Life News:
A tricky week in terms of being sick, groan. I've had a cold plus my usual catarrh difficulties since Sunday evening so wasn't able to go in to work yesterday at all. The thing I really hate about being ill like this is the not being able to sleep part of it, so was pleased last night that I did actually manage to get some decent sleep for the first time since Saturday and in the bedroom too, hurrah! (I usually stick to the living room in times of difficulty as it's warmer ...). The other good thing is the number of property programmes on daytime TV - what bliss.
Am planning to go into work tomorrow for a staff event that we're doing so my usual working week is a bit confused anyway. Lord know what day I'll think it actually is tomorrow! Due to being ill, I've also had to cancel the specialist appointment I had at Kingston Hospital today (ah, the irony of it all ...) but it appears that my specialist is now moving to St George's so I am desperately trying to catch up with her, but no luck yet.
However, I'm delighted to say that our flat now has a "Sold" sign on the street, so K keeps admiring it when he leaves for work. It feels great to have it there, I must say. Not only that but the house we're in the process of buying in Mayford has a Sold STC notice on its web entry so that's very pleasing too. I'm only hoping and praying the potential move goes relatively smoothly from now on ...
And is it just me, but is "Outcasts", the new SF serial on TV, really just a rehash of "Heroes", "The Deep" and "Lost"? BIG yawn. It's all too stupidly mystical and pretentious for words really, and I did have such high hopes at the start, as I'm usually a fan of Hermione Norris - what on earth is her agent thinking?!? They really need to stop the pretentiousness and actually give us some plot and decent characterisation. As K says, it's a planetary outpost where the security team appears to be run by Benny from Crossroads (bless ....) and some children's TV presenter. It's also very odd, bearing in mind they are supposed to be the only humans on an empty planet, how often they receive visitors they've never come across before. At least one or two every episode roll up. K thinks that over the hill there's actually a vast city the size of Las Vegas if only they realised it. Sigh. However, it does make you realise how sharp and well-written/plotted the episodes of any of the Star Trek series actually are - at least they understood about the need for action and character back then.
Book News:
I'm happy to say that the lovely Graham Sclater was kind enough to give another on-air review of A Dangerous Man on Live Wire Talk Radio last night, so many thanks for that, Graham. I am definitely envious of the daffodils in your study though ...
And Pink Champagne and Apple Juice briefly found itself at No 77 in the Amazon UK Kindle charts, so that was a surprise for us all, I can tell you.
Anne Brooke
ANNE BROOKE BOOKS: Independent writer of modern fiction
Showing posts with label hospital. Show all posts
Showing posts with label hospital. Show all posts
Wednesday, February 16, 2011
Thursday, November 18, 2010
Haircuts and hospitals
Life News:
Great news! Someone at work actually noticed my new haircut! Gosh indeedy. So a big thank you to Andrea, and also to Carol, for commenting on it - positively of course - and without having read my blog too. I'm still smiling.
This week I've also had my appointment with the lovely specialist (hello, Alli!) who has been reading my blog and therefore commented on my wonderful new haircut - not sure whether that might have been cheating or not, now I come to think of it, but thank you anyway! Health-wise, I'm much happier than I was a couple of weeks ago, so we've decided to keep off the HRT for the moment and see how things progress between now and when I next see her in February. It makes sense, but I'll keep an eye on it to see if I suddenly plunge into the slough of despond again. You never know really. They also took a blood test to see how my oestrogen levels are doing, post-HRT, so that will be interesting to find out too. Never say the middle years of a woman's life are not exciting, eh ...
In the meantime, I've been struggling with estate agents, again. There are still zilch viewers for our poor unloved flat, which continues to be hugely frustrating, but we've decided to go and see three houses this Saturday anyway, just to keep our hand in. Interestingly, one of them in Woking is on the market at a price we could actually afford without even having to sell our flat, which is certainly food for thought. I do like the look of it as well, but we'll see. The thing that really got my back up, however, is the fact that when I rang up to arrange a viewing for one of the other houses with an agent new to us, the extremely callow young man was very rude when he found out our flat was on with Mann Countrywide. What is it about callow young male estate agents (well, apart from the evident lack of brains, that is)??? Don't they have any concept at all of professionalism??? I am therefore extremely proud of myself that I stopped his boring sales spiel and bitchiness in mid-flow, and told him in no uncertain terms not to be so rude about his fellow professionals as I thought it was frankly appalling. (Say what you like about Mann Countrywide but they have never at any time been rude or bitchy about other estate agents, at least not in my hearing, and that is something I do admire, whether or not they know how to get viewers for us ...). Said Callow Young Man's response to that was weak laughter, which I didn't take kindly to either, so I told him I wasn't interested in his opinions, but I simply wanted him to arrange an appointment and confirm it with me without more ado. The loser ... The good thing is that CYM isn't available on Saturday, so a colleague will show us round. Thank God for that, really. I hope the colleague is more pleasant, but I don't hold out much hope. But good to know that being a stroppy-minded woman in her forties has some benefits - I would never have dared express an opinion such as that in my twenties, more fool me.
Anyway, tonight, K and I are off to the theatre in Woking to see House of Ghosts, which is a play featuring Inspector Morse, so it should be interesting for sure.
Book News:
I'm happy to say that A Dangerous Man gained a lovely 5-star review on Amazon, so many thanks, Amos, for that. The novel is now also available at The Book Depository with free worldwide delivery, so that's good to know. It's even got a sales ranking there too, which is heartening.
This week's meditations are:
Meditation 462
A wild ride,
vain hope of escape
and certain knowledge
of death
reveals to us all
how this need to live
drives us onward
until the last frail breath.
Meditation 463
I’ve always liked Jezebel:
the way she puts on
her eyeshadow
and arranges her hair
before a bloody,
undignified death
is, I feel, a lesson
for all women, everywhere.
Meditation 464
Call me too delicate
for the world we live in
but the concept
of seventy dead men’s heads
lined up in baskets
really doesn’t suit me
as an appetiser.
Really, they were a funny old lot in the Old Testament ...
Anne Brooke
Great news! Someone at work actually noticed my new haircut! Gosh indeedy. So a big thank you to Andrea, and also to Carol, for commenting on it - positively of course - and without having read my blog too. I'm still smiling.
This week I've also had my appointment with the lovely specialist (hello, Alli!) who has been reading my blog and therefore commented on my wonderful new haircut - not sure whether that might have been cheating or not, now I come to think of it, but thank you anyway! Health-wise, I'm much happier than I was a couple of weeks ago, so we've decided to keep off the HRT for the moment and see how things progress between now and when I next see her in February. It makes sense, but I'll keep an eye on it to see if I suddenly plunge into the slough of despond again. You never know really. They also took a blood test to see how my oestrogen levels are doing, post-HRT, so that will be interesting to find out too. Never say the middle years of a woman's life are not exciting, eh ...
In the meantime, I've been struggling with estate agents, again. There are still zilch viewers for our poor unloved flat, which continues to be hugely frustrating, but we've decided to go and see three houses this Saturday anyway, just to keep our hand in. Interestingly, one of them in Woking is on the market at a price we could actually afford without even having to sell our flat, which is certainly food for thought. I do like the look of it as well, but we'll see. The thing that really got my back up, however, is the fact that when I rang up to arrange a viewing for one of the other houses with an agent new to us, the extremely callow young man was very rude when he found out our flat was on with Mann Countrywide. What is it about callow young male estate agents (well, apart from the evident lack of brains, that is)??? Don't they have any concept at all of professionalism??? I am therefore extremely proud of myself that I stopped his boring sales spiel and bitchiness in mid-flow, and told him in no uncertain terms not to be so rude about his fellow professionals as I thought it was frankly appalling. (Say what you like about Mann Countrywide but they have never at any time been rude or bitchy about other estate agents, at least not in my hearing, and that is something I do admire, whether or not they know how to get viewers for us ...). Said Callow Young Man's response to that was weak laughter, which I didn't take kindly to either, so I told him I wasn't interested in his opinions, but I simply wanted him to arrange an appointment and confirm it with me without more ado. The loser ... The good thing is that CYM isn't available on Saturday, so a colleague will show us round. Thank God for that, really. I hope the colleague is more pleasant, but I don't hold out much hope. But good to know that being a stroppy-minded woman in her forties has some benefits - I would never have dared express an opinion such as that in my twenties, more fool me.
Anyway, tonight, K and I are off to the theatre in Woking to see House of Ghosts, which is a play featuring Inspector Morse, so it should be interesting for sure.
Book News:
I'm happy to say that A Dangerous Man gained a lovely 5-star review on Amazon, so many thanks, Amos, for that. The novel is now also available at The Book Depository with free worldwide delivery, so that's good to know. It's even got a sales ranking there too, which is heartening.
This week's meditations are:
Meditation 462
A wild ride,
vain hope of escape
and certain knowledge
of death
reveals to us all
how this need to live
drives us onward
until the last frail breath.
Meditation 463
I’ve always liked Jezebel:
the way she puts on
her eyeshadow
and arranges her hair
before a bloody,
undignified death
is, I feel, a lesson
for all women, everywhere.
Meditation 464
Call me too delicate
for the world we live in
but the concept
of seventy dead men’s heads
lined up in baskets
really doesn’t suit me
as an appetiser.
Really, they were a funny old lot in the Old Testament ...
Anne Brooke
Thursday, September 23, 2010
The Decluttering Queen
Book News:
This week I've been delighted that Martin and The Wolf gained a 4-star review at Goodreads - many thanks, Chris. Tuluscan Six and The Time Circle received a 4.5 star review at Jessewave Reviews, so thank you to Val for that.
Meanwhile, Tommy's Blind Date has been doing well, with a review at Tam's Reads (scroll down to view), and two 5-star reviews at Goodreads, one from Lisa and one from Stephanie, so a big thank you to you both! And, for the blink of an eye, The Delaneys and Me found itself at No 40 in the Amazon charts but has dropped out now.
Finally, in this section, K and I have been parsing the verb to Kindle, and have decided it's an irregular verb: I Kindle; you don't have a Kindle; he/she/it doesn't know what a Kindle is ... Really, I'm loving it.
My latest meditations are:
Meditation 430
To question God
with raw honesty
is better
than a thousand pleasant lies
told in the secret passages
of your heart.
Meditation 431
Sow in the field
of desire
and reap
a harvest of death;
sow in the field
of kindness
and reap
a harvest of life.
Meditation 432
A whisper from the sea
seven times softer
than the salty air
you breathe.
When the dark clouds dance
and the wind sings,
run before the promise
of rain, rejoicing.
Life News:
Well, it's been inevitable really, and certainly since the beginning of September when it all went horribly wrong, but K and I have this week now officially withdrawn from the flat-buying disaster and have, in a brief email to them and their solicitors, wished the vendors luck in whatever they decide to do with their flat from now on. Well, a former boss of mine once told me - and he was right - always to end a quarrel with courtesy so that is what we have attempted to do. Time to lick our wounds, take a deep breath and move on, once our solicitor's bill is paid, of course!
With this in mind, we've been continuing to paint and declutter our flat ready for potential buyers, and have managed to clear the place of nine bags of recyclable clothes and two bin-bags of clothes not even charity shops would take. We have also thrown away a lot of our old video tapes (though I can't bring myself to part with all my Star Trek ones - no way!) and have therefore all but filled three wheelie-bins full of rubbish again. And the binmen aren't collecting rubbish until Tuesday week as we're on a fortnightly cycle so Lord knows where I'll be putting the old/unwanted food leftovers ... Help!
We have also given at least one coat of paint to everything in the hallway that needs lightening up, apart from the skirting board as we need to take the carpet up for that. And I have washed the spare room walls where I can get to them between the bookcases ready for giving that a coat of paint too. There'll be more stuff to throw away from the spare room but some of that is a council tip job so I think K and I will have to tackle that together.
In the midst of all this, I've also had my regular hospital appointment with the lovely Alli, and we've now decided that I'll be coming off the HRT to try to avoid the need for another operation to take my right ovary out, as it's not very good really. Poor thing, I'm quite fond of it, you know - I think it's called George - and I'd like to try to save it. But I am a bit worried as to what it might do in terms of my mood swings, which the HRT was helping a lot with, so I will have to try to keep a close eye on how I am (not easy when I could be either screaming with rage and brandishing the nearest weaponry or weeping like a klutz all over the dining room table, and sometimes both!...) and keep taking the St John's Wort which is also marvellous for my happiness levels. We'll see.
So, thank goodness for a night out on Tuesday with the lovely Jane and Tanya, the latter of whom I'd not seen for ages so it was great to catch up. The French restaurant Jane chose ( Cote in Guildford) was fabulous too and the food top-notch though we were all puzzled as to why there was a choice of having your mushroom soup either hot or cold. Yuk! The French are a mysterious folk indeed. We're also at that age where none of us can read the menu unless it's at arm's length, which caused great amusement to our fellow diners. Ah well. We're not getting any younger, you know ...
Anne Brooke
This week I've been delighted that Martin and The Wolf gained a 4-star review at Goodreads - many thanks, Chris. Tuluscan Six and The Time Circle received a 4.5 star review at Jessewave Reviews, so thank you to Val for that.
Meanwhile, Tommy's Blind Date has been doing well, with a review at Tam's Reads (scroll down to view), and two 5-star reviews at Goodreads, one from Lisa and one from Stephanie, so a big thank you to you both! And, for the blink of an eye, The Delaneys and Me found itself at No 40 in the Amazon charts but has dropped out now.
Finally, in this section, K and I have been parsing the verb to Kindle, and have decided it's an irregular verb: I Kindle; you don't have a Kindle; he/she/it doesn't know what a Kindle is ... Really, I'm loving it.
My latest meditations are:
Meditation 430
To question God
with raw honesty
is better
than a thousand pleasant lies
told in the secret passages
of your heart.
Meditation 431
Sow in the field
of desire
and reap
a harvest of death;
sow in the field
of kindness
and reap
a harvest of life.
Meditation 432
A whisper from the sea
seven times softer
than the salty air
you breathe.
When the dark clouds dance
and the wind sings,
run before the promise
of rain, rejoicing.
Life News:
Well, it's been inevitable really, and certainly since the beginning of September when it all went horribly wrong, but K and I have this week now officially withdrawn from the flat-buying disaster and have, in a brief email to them and their solicitors, wished the vendors luck in whatever they decide to do with their flat from now on. Well, a former boss of mine once told me - and he was right - always to end a quarrel with courtesy so that is what we have attempted to do. Time to lick our wounds, take a deep breath and move on, once our solicitor's bill is paid, of course!
With this in mind, we've been continuing to paint and declutter our flat ready for potential buyers, and have managed to clear the place of nine bags of recyclable clothes and two bin-bags of clothes not even charity shops would take. We have also thrown away a lot of our old video tapes (though I can't bring myself to part with all my Star Trek ones - no way!) and have therefore all but filled three wheelie-bins full of rubbish again. And the binmen aren't collecting rubbish until Tuesday week as we're on a fortnightly cycle so Lord knows where I'll be putting the old/unwanted food leftovers ... Help!
We have also given at least one coat of paint to everything in the hallway that needs lightening up, apart from the skirting board as we need to take the carpet up for that. And I have washed the spare room walls where I can get to them between the bookcases ready for giving that a coat of paint too. There'll be more stuff to throw away from the spare room but some of that is a council tip job so I think K and I will have to tackle that together.
In the midst of all this, I've also had my regular hospital appointment with the lovely Alli, and we've now decided that I'll be coming off the HRT to try to avoid the need for another operation to take my right ovary out, as it's not very good really. Poor thing, I'm quite fond of it, you know - I think it's called George - and I'd like to try to save it. But I am a bit worried as to what it might do in terms of my mood swings, which the HRT was helping a lot with, so I will have to try to keep a close eye on how I am (not easy when I could be either screaming with rage and brandishing the nearest weaponry or weeping like a klutz all over the dining room table, and sometimes both!...) and keep taking the St John's Wort which is also marvellous for my happiness levels. We'll see.
So, thank goodness for a night out on Tuesday with the lovely Jane and Tanya, the latter of whom I'd not seen for ages so it was great to catch up. The French restaurant Jane chose ( Cote in Guildford) was fabulous too and the food top-notch though we were all puzzled as to why there was a choice of having your mushroom soup either hot or cold. Yuk! The French are a mysterious folk indeed. We're also at that age where none of us can read the menu unless it's at arm's length, which caused great amusement to our fellow diners. Ah well. We're not getting any younger, you know ...
Anne Brooke
Wednesday, July 28, 2010
Milestones and mortgages
Life News:
A slightly earlier mid-week blog than usual as I'm fiddling around with my days this week, so am working tomorrow and then straight out to London to see a friend. As a result today has been hugely busy and I appear to have driven at least 75 miles in the pursuit of health and happiness.
Had my appointment with the lovely gynae consultant at the hospital today, who is cautiously pleased with my progress thus far but is altering the doses of my HRT in order to take the St John's Wort happy pills into account - so I'm a bit concerned about how that will affect things, but once again we'll have to see. I'm also being referred to another gynae expert in Guildford to see whether I might at some stage need another op or not. I hope not, but you never can tell. Such is the exciting health life of we middle-aged Surrey women. Hey ho.
Immediately after that I drove across to near where Lord H works in order to sort out, with him, the conveyancing on our new flat purchase, so we've now instructed a conveyancer and a mortgage company, so I'm not sure there are any other orders we need to give anyone. Not yet anyway. So far, there are only a couple of issues that need sorting out - so I will I suspect feel calmer when they're out of the way. All this unfamiliar stuff is making me terribly jittery - which doesn't surprise me.
Thank goodness for tonight, when we're out to see The Importance of Being Oscar at the Guildford Theatre, so an opportunity to relax and enjoy definitely beckons. How I need it!
Other life excitements this week so far have been the redoing of the tarmac at the University car park which means everyone is desperately juggling for spaces and we all have to get in early in order to find one. Not too much of a problem, and these things have to be done - my only difficulty has been attempting to find where the heck I've put the car at the end of the day as it's not in my usual place and, being me and a creature of routine, I end up staring soulfully through the fencing at where I usually park and wondering why I can't get there, and why indeed the car isn't there at all. Really, how people live lives of adventure and change is beyond me - I like structure and for things to be the same. Lordy, what a wimp, eh.
Book News:
The Delaneys and Me continues its whistle-stop tour round the Amazon Kindle Gay Fiction charts, and was up as high as Number 20 earlier this week. Many thanks to those people who are buying - it's very much appreciated.
I'm also very happy to say that I've reached the 40,000 word marker in my blogged novella, The Prayer Seeker, and you can read the latest episode here. I reckon it might end up being 45-50,000 words, but certainly no more.
Not only that, but I've reached my 400th meditation poem, hurrah! Here are the latest two:
Meditation 399
Through all the bustle
and clamour,
the demands, the dreams
and the night-waking fears,
the greatest desire of all
is simply to be heard.
Meditation 400
When all is done –
the words, the tears
and the hard-won hope –
what counts
above all
is mercy.
Anne Brooke
The Prayer Seeker's Journal
A slightly earlier mid-week blog than usual as I'm fiddling around with my days this week, so am working tomorrow and then straight out to London to see a friend. As a result today has been hugely busy and I appear to have driven at least 75 miles in the pursuit of health and happiness.
Had my appointment with the lovely gynae consultant at the hospital today, who is cautiously pleased with my progress thus far but is altering the doses of my HRT in order to take the St John's Wort happy pills into account - so I'm a bit concerned about how that will affect things, but once again we'll have to see. I'm also being referred to another gynae expert in Guildford to see whether I might at some stage need another op or not. I hope not, but you never can tell. Such is the exciting health life of we middle-aged Surrey women. Hey ho.
Immediately after that I drove across to near where Lord H works in order to sort out, with him, the conveyancing on our new flat purchase, so we've now instructed a conveyancer and a mortgage company, so I'm not sure there are any other orders we need to give anyone. Not yet anyway. So far, there are only a couple of issues that need sorting out - so I will I suspect feel calmer when they're out of the way. All this unfamiliar stuff is making me terribly jittery - which doesn't surprise me.
Thank goodness for tonight, when we're out to see The Importance of Being Oscar at the Guildford Theatre, so an opportunity to relax and enjoy definitely beckons. How I need it!
Other life excitements this week so far have been the redoing of the tarmac at the University car park which means everyone is desperately juggling for spaces and we all have to get in early in order to find one. Not too much of a problem, and these things have to be done - my only difficulty has been attempting to find where the heck I've put the car at the end of the day as it's not in my usual place and, being me and a creature of routine, I end up staring soulfully through the fencing at where I usually park and wondering why I can't get there, and why indeed the car isn't there at all. Really, how people live lives of adventure and change is beyond me - I like structure and for things to be the same. Lordy, what a wimp, eh.
Book News:
The Delaneys and Me continues its whistle-stop tour round the Amazon Kindle Gay Fiction charts, and was up as high as Number 20 earlier this week. Many thanks to those people who are buying - it's very much appreciated.
I'm also very happy to say that I've reached the 40,000 word marker in my blogged novella, The Prayer Seeker, and you can read the latest episode here. I reckon it might end up being 45-50,000 words, but certainly no more.
Not only that, but I've reached my 400th meditation poem, hurrah! Here are the latest two:
Meditation 399
Through all the bustle
and clamour,
the demands, the dreams
and the night-waking fears,
the greatest desire of all
is simply to be heard.
Meditation 400
When all is done –
the words, the tears
and the hard-won hope –
what counts
above all
is mercy.
Anne Brooke
The Prayer Seeker's Journal
Thursday, April 15, 2010
Contracts and consultants
A lovely surprise today to receive my author copies of The Hit List - they look amazing. I've packed up one for a friend, one for my mother and one for a reviewer, and plan to post these off tomorrow, hurrah.
Other nice news is that I've sent off my contracts for Tuluscan Six and the Time Circle (gay fantasy romance) to Amber Allure Press, and for literary short story, The Secret Thoughts of Leaves, to Untreed Reads Press - so thanks to both publishers for this.
Depending on volcanic ash and planes (of which more shortly), I may be on holiday at the weekend, so this is also a reminder that gay erotic short story, The Delaneys and Me, is published on Sunday 18 April by Amber Allure. I hope you'll enjoy the read.
Strangely, I've also started writing a straight erotic short story (well, gosh!), whose title - The Boilerman and the Bride - has been supplied by Ruth at work (thanks, Ruth!) I've only written the first 130 words so it's early days, but I think I'm going to enjoy this one. And, on a less happy note, along with a small group of like-minded authors, I'm now in the middle of extracting myself from a contract for an earlier novel. The response to our reasonable request has been as expected by us all, sigh. The plot indeed thickens! Meanwhile, we carry on, being polite but firm.
Life News:
I've had to go back to my lovely gynae consultant this week, and she's moved hospitals from Guildford to Kingston, so I had to face the trauma of a longer drive to a new place - never my best concept, I admit. I arrived hugely early as parking is tricky, but at least I got a space. Thank the Lord for school holidays and a therefore easier journey. The upshot is that I'm doing okay at the moment - despite what the GP said ... - though I'll need regular check-ups once every 6 to 12 months or so. I also took another CA125 blood test while I was there so hope that's okay, and she's booking me in for a scan. Hey ho, and roll on the menopause, say I.
This morning, I've popped into see my neighbour in his Home in Woking - had a lovely chat and a stroll round the really quite beautiful gardens. The tulips are out! How glorious. The big news is that they're getting tropical fish in the corridor outside his room - I am hugely envious as I've always rather fancied fish. So very calming. Aren't they good for hormones? Surely they must be.
And, all things being equal and if the wind (ho ho) is in our direction, Lord H and I will be off to Naples on Saturday for a week's holiday, including one trip to Pompeii and one to Herculaneum. I'm so looking forward to it - or will be depending on the current wave of volcanic ash sweeping over northern Europe, deep deep sigh. All flights are cancelled from the UK until Friday, so I really don't know what will happen on Saturday. I do so hope we can get there, as I've always longed to go ... However, at the moment I'm trying not to get too anxious or excited, and hoping for the best. As ever.
Anne Brooke
The Prayer Seeker's Journal
Sunday, April 11, 2010
Birds, butterflies and bars
I'm pleased to say that my gay erotic short story, The Delaneys and Me, is now up at Amber Allure Press although it's not published until Sunday 18 April. I'm noting it now as I'll be away on holiday at that point so won't be blogging until I get back.
I'm also happy to say that Give and Take received a very positive review at Tam's Reads - you'll need to scroll down a little to see it. Many thanks, Tam!
And I've uploaded the final part of Chapter Ten of The Prayer Seeker's Journal where Michael is still dealing with the ex-wife.
Finally in this section, there are two haikus this week, which I hope you enjoy:
Grey heron flying,
painted across the bright sky:
harbinger of spring.
The peace of water
sinks into my skin: sunlight,
air and deep silence.
Other News:
I had a very enjoyable time representing Vulpes Libris at the Sceptre Press Book Bloggers party at the Hospital Club Bellini Bar in London on Friday afternoon. Thankfully I don't think they quite realised which Bookfox I actually am, or they very politely ignored it, and we all had a very good time talking with passion and commitment about books. We stayed so long that they had to throw us out in the end. Plus we all got a book goody bag, hurrah - thank you to the lovely Polly et all for that. It was nice also to meet some of their newer authors and fellow-bloggers too. I was on my best behaviour and said nothing about my thoughts concerning their new and distinctly dodgy marketing approach, but I was on the other hand (sorry, in-joke!) happy to say that I was very much enjoying the proof book they sent me, hurrah! I hope we can all do it again sometime, and that other publishers might take the proverbial leaf from Sceptre's party book. Speaking with my failing-would-be-mainstream-writer hat on though (ah how well it fits me), it was really incredibly refreshing to have any kind of conversation at all with a mainstream publisher that doesn't involve them either ignoring me, laughing at me or insulting me in suitably bitchy fashion, ho ho. And, yes, all that has happened in the past. Thank goodness I've now found publishers to whom my work is far more suited, eh. Saves all the pain really.
Yesterday, Lord H and I did a quick recce to find out how to get to Kingston Hospital - as I have to go to see my nice gynae woman there on Wednesday and I've been hyperventilating for days about the terrors of having to find somewhere new. Having done the journey once though, it looks fairly straightforward and the only real problem (apart from the inevitable traffic) is going to be finding someplace to park when I'm there, groan. Wish me luck ...
We then went on to spend a very pleasant day at Barnes Wildfowl & Wetlands Trust, where we managed to spot sand martins, a little ringed plover, a great black-backed gull and lots of great crested grebes - all new for this year. I was also thrilled to see my second butterfly of the year - a common white. We spotted a beautiful peacock butterfly on the neighbour's chimney earlier in the week ... Plus Barnes actually had chicks, including some gorgeously bizarre moorhen chicks - and yes they really do look like that. Amazing.
Meanwhile, we've suffered the appalling disaster of yesterday's disappointing Dr Who episode - it felt like a nine-year old had been allowed to write it with no supervision and was, frankly, laughable. We trust the writer has been cast into the mouth of the beast, and that next week's offering will have at least more class. I can only admire the actors for not running screaming from the set, sigh ... Mind you, there is one good thing that came out of it - Lord H thought the idea of casting naughty schoolchildren into the Mouth of Hell where they are never seen again was a brilliant idea and all schools should take it up at once. That'll teach the little beggars not to learn their sums, eh ...
Talking of which, we have survived the traumas of being responsible for coffees at today's Family Service!! Pause for applause - go on, you know you want to. We practised our polite religious smiles before we went and they seem to have done the trick. It was, to be honest, less problematic than I'd feared, though we did have to sing a wretched Graham Kendrick song. Deep sigh. He must be the only songwriter around who's utterly unable to put the right number of words in a tune, and it's all so relentlessly glittery and bland. I did find myself turning to the song again to see when he was born (1950, if you're asking) and therefore when he might retire from the fray, but then thought that was probably way too bitchy even for me. Surely not! I am indeed the soul of loving kindness and warmth. Well, in my dreams anyway ...
Anne Brooke
The Prayer Seeker's Journal
Friday, February 20, 2009
The invisible writer and putting the boot in
God, what a day. It's really been one moment of crap followed closely by another moment of crap. On the whole. And ooh look another will be joining it shortly. Oh what joy. I am seriously pissed off. I don't know but people have been getting on my wick today, and irritating me beyond measure. Is it Let's Piss Anne Off Day and I missed the national email telling me so?? Deeep sigh ...
Anyway, first off, the ruddy hospital send me another letter telling me to come for a scan in March. Well, I've only just had a ruddy scan last week - what do they want me to buy? A season ticket?? Are my bits just so incredibly fascinating that they must scan them on a monthly basis? Naturally I rang up to sort it out first thing this morning, and the woman on the other end of the line told me there must be something wrong for them to want to bring me in again so soon. Well, that made me feel cheerful, I can tell you. However, after a few moments of hyperventilating and wondering how many days (nay minutes) I might have left to live, she came back and said there was nothing untoward on my notes and it must just be an error. Well, phew. All's well that ends proverbially, but I could have done without the ride. To be honest.
I then attempted to squeeze out some words for Hallsfoot's Battle but Lordy it's a total struggle today and I can't seem to raise any interest in it at all, let alone inspiration. Whatever that is. I've stretched it out to just (barely) over 94,000 words but that's quite a stretch and I suspect what I've attempted to add will have to be ditched in the eventual edit. And some. Sigh.
My headache really began to build up when I hot-footed it to golf and of course it's half-term so (reasonably enough) there is a plethora of young people on the course. So it took so much longer to trudge round. Added to that the fact that I can no longer open my car boot and therefore cannot get to my golf trolley, which meant I had to lug the damn bag round myself. Totally exhausting, my dears, and my arm aches like anything now. It was gone 1pm before we actually finished.
I then leapt desperately into Godalming to do some shopping I've been putting off for weeks, and then found when I got back that I only had half an hour to eat lunch before going to my Alexander Technique lesson. This gave me just enough time to (a) eat, (b) add another 100 sorry-looking words to poor old Hallsfoot, and (c) ring the garage to ask if I could bring the car round so they could look at my boot lock problem. To which the answer was: yes, anytime up till 6pm and they'd be sure to look at it for me.
I then went and had my AT lesson - which was okay but I wasn't sure I was relaxed enough to take anything in. Let alone how to be relaxed. Even the two calming pills I've taken today aren't helping me there. After that, I got to the garage (Lord, but Guildford traffic is serious crap) at just before 4pm. Only to be told that all the technical people leave at 4pm and can't look at my car until next week anyway. Then why the hell didn't they tell me that on the bloody phone when I rang???!!? God, but sometimes I think I'm totally invisible and nobody pays me a blind bit of notice. Are my perfectly valid questions simply the distant sound of soft bleating to them?? But fear not - I expressed my disappointment in reasonable yet firm terms and did not (as I longed to do) fall screaming to the floor in the ruddy showroom and start biting the tyres of the nearest sales car. Maybe I should have done. The upshot is that I've booked an appointment for the car to have its boot opened in a couple of weeks' time when we're back from holiday - on a day that Lord H can take me in as I couldn't have hired an alternative car apparently until the end of March. God, but it's so bloody complicated. Till then, at least I know the bloody things in the bloody boot are safe, even if the ruddy car gets stolen. Deeeep sigh.
Meanwhile, back at the work ranch, I see the very sweet lady from the Arts Office has sent an email round to the University Book Group telling us that when we're making our choices of the next tranche of books to talk about, we can't choose self-published books, even though last year they looked at "Anne Brooke's self-published novel, A Dangerous Man, as she is a staff member." Self-published?? A Dangerous Man?? I don't think so. Or, at least, it's the first I've heard of it. I'm sure Flame Books would be delighted to find out that their whole company is in fact run by ... me. Even deeeeeper sigh. I sent back a (rather less reasonable, but hell it's lucky I can still put words together in any kind of calm order at all) reply saying that while half of my novels are self-published, A Dangerous Man actually isn't and so was never part of any special dispensation to the rules, and I wouldn't expect to be treated differently anyway. As I has said at the time. Though in actual fact, it's also true to say that all of my available novels bar one are now commercially published, whether by paperback or eBook, and the next one off the press will also be a commercial production. Not that any of this will matter of course, as it now appears that anything I say is disregarded as random witterings or thought not important enough to remember - good to know my invisibility continues to widen its remit - at least something is working in Anne's World then, if only in a negative way ... In the meantime, it would be terribly refreshing if the facts about something I said or produced were actually listened to or regarded as remotely memorable - just once in my ruddy life!!...
In addition to all this, I've just had to speak to the middle neighbour (always tricky at the best of times) who somehow seems rather more tricksy than usual. He said something that particularly irritated me (and believe me my irritation levels are off the scale today, as you can probably tell) and instead of saying something jolly or soothing as I usually do (which is I know what I'm expected as a woman to do and which again he doesn't listen to, as a matter of course), I just didn't reply and stared at him. I think that took him by surprise, and I managed to escape earlier than anticipated, thank goodness. Any more conversation with people of any shape or form and I might just have to punch them, scream loudly and run away. God but that seems like a plan.
And here's today's meditation - the writing of which frankly seems a damn long time ago. Really I am pissed off with the whole of this day already and I want no more of it. I'm tired, that damn headache won't let me go, nobody listens to a word I say, I have the housework to face and I can't even open a bottle of wine any more to take the edge off. Bloody hell.
Meditation 74
The land breathes riches
for six years
and sleeps across your senses
for the seventh.
What you have not planted
will nourish you
and what you release
from your hand
will lighten your weight
upon the earth,
help you to dream again.
But do not fear, people - astonishingly, all is not lost. At the end of all this sludge and existential misery, Lord H has come back from work (hurrah!) and allowed me to pummel his chest in order to get rid of some of the angst - an essential duty which really should be performed by every husband. And I do feel a bit better now. Thank the Lord. Oh and I've had my third chocolate of the day - so my insulin levels will be crap but at least it raises the happy hormones ...
Today's nice things (um ...):
1. Chocolate
2. Lord H
3. Chocolate
4. Lord H.
Anne Brooke
Anne's website - if you blink you'll miss it ...
Anyway, first off, the ruddy hospital send me another letter telling me to come for a scan in March. Well, I've only just had a ruddy scan last week - what do they want me to buy? A season ticket?? Are my bits just so incredibly fascinating that they must scan them on a monthly basis? Naturally I rang up to sort it out first thing this morning, and the woman on the other end of the line told me there must be something wrong for them to want to bring me in again so soon. Well, that made me feel cheerful, I can tell you. However, after a few moments of hyperventilating and wondering how many days (nay minutes) I might have left to live, she came back and said there was nothing untoward on my notes and it must just be an error. Well, phew. All's well that ends proverbially, but I could have done without the ride. To be honest.
I then attempted to squeeze out some words for Hallsfoot's Battle but Lordy it's a total struggle today and I can't seem to raise any interest in it at all, let alone inspiration. Whatever that is. I've stretched it out to just (barely) over 94,000 words but that's quite a stretch and I suspect what I've attempted to add will have to be ditched in the eventual edit. And some. Sigh.
My headache really began to build up when I hot-footed it to golf and of course it's half-term so (reasonably enough) there is a plethora of young people on the course. So it took so much longer to trudge round. Added to that the fact that I can no longer open my car boot and therefore cannot get to my golf trolley, which meant I had to lug the damn bag round myself. Totally exhausting, my dears, and my arm aches like anything now. It was gone 1pm before we actually finished.
I then leapt desperately into Godalming to do some shopping I've been putting off for weeks, and then found when I got back that I only had half an hour to eat lunch before going to my Alexander Technique lesson. This gave me just enough time to (a) eat, (b) add another 100 sorry-looking words to poor old Hallsfoot, and (c) ring the garage to ask if I could bring the car round so they could look at my boot lock problem. To which the answer was: yes, anytime up till 6pm and they'd be sure to look at it for me.
I then went and had my AT lesson - which was okay but I wasn't sure I was relaxed enough to take anything in. Let alone how to be relaxed. Even the two calming pills I've taken today aren't helping me there. After that, I got to the garage (Lord, but Guildford traffic is serious crap) at just before 4pm. Only to be told that all the technical people leave at 4pm and can't look at my car until next week anyway. Then why the hell didn't they tell me that on the bloody phone when I rang???!!? God, but sometimes I think I'm totally invisible and nobody pays me a blind bit of notice. Are my perfectly valid questions simply the distant sound of soft bleating to them?? But fear not - I expressed my disappointment in reasonable yet firm terms and did not (as I longed to do) fall screaming to the floor in the ruddy showroom and start biting the tyres of the nearest sales car. Maybe I should have done. The upshot is that I've booked an appointment for the car to have its boot opened in a couple of weeks' time when we're back from holiday - on a day that Lord H can take me in as I couldn't have hired an alternative car apparently until the end of March. God, but it's so bloody complicated. Till then, at least I know the bloody things in the bloody boot are safe, even if the ruddy car gets stolen. Deeeep sigh.
Meanwhile, back at the work ranch, I see the very sweet lady from the Arts Office has sent an email round to the University Book Group telling us that when we're making our choices of the next tranche of books to talk about, we can't choose self-published books, even though last year they looked at "Anne Brooke's self-published novel, A Dangerous Man, as she is a staff member." Self-published?? A Dangerous Man?? I don't think so. Or, at least, it's the first I've heard of it. I'm sure Flame Books would be delighted to find out that their whole company is in fact run by ... me. Even deeeeeper sigh. I sent back a (rather less reasonable, but hell it's lucky I can still put words together in any kind of calm order at all) reply saying that while half of my novels are self-published, A Dangerous Man actually isn't and so was never part of any special dispensation to the rules, and I wouldn't expect to be treated differently anyway. As I has said at the time. Though in actual fact, it's also true to say that all of my available novels bar one are now commercially published, whether by paperback or eBook, and the next one off the press will also be a commercial production. Not that any of this will matter of course, as it now appears that anything I say is disregarded as random witterings or thought not important enough to remember - good to know my invisibility continues to widen its remit - at least something is working in Anne's World then, if only in a negative way ... In the meantime, it would be terribly refreshing if the facts about something I said or produced were actually listened to or regarded as remotely memorable - just once in my ruddy life!!...
In addition to all this, I've just had to speak to the middle neighbour (always tricky at the best of times) who somehow seems rather more tricksy than usual. He said something that particularly irritated me (and believe me my irritation levels are off the scale today, as you can probably tell) and instead of saying something jolly or soothing as I usually do (which is I know what I'm expected as a woman to do and which again he doesn't listen to, as a matter of course), I just didn't reply and stared at him. I think that took him by surprise, and I managed to escape earlier than anticipated, thank goodness. Any more conversation with people of any shape or form and I might just have to punch them, scream loudly and run away. God but that seems like a plan.
And here's today's meditation - the writing of which frankly seems a damn long time ago. Really I am pissed off with the whole of this day already and I want no more of it. I'm tired, that damn headache won't let me go, nobody listens to a word I say, I have the housework to face and I can't even open a bottle of wine any more to take the edge off. Bloody hell.
Meditation 74
The land breathes riches
for six years
and sleeps across your senses
for the seventh.
What you have not planted
will nourish you
and what you release
from your hand
will lighten your weight
upon the earth,
help you to dream again.
But do not fear, people - astonishingly, all is not lost. At the end of all this sludge and existential misery, Lord H has come back from work (hurrah!) and allowed me to pummel his chest in order to get rid of some of the angst - an essential duty which really should be performed by every husband. And I do feel a bit better now. Thank the Lord. Oh and I've had my third chocolate of the day - so my insulin levels will be crap but at least it raises the happy hormones ...
Today's nice things (um ...):
1. Chocolate
2. Lord H
3. Chocolate
4. Lord H.
Anne Brooke
Anne's website - if you blink you'll miss it ...
Thursday, February 12, 2009
Hallsfoot, hospitals and mystic balloons
Hurrah, I am feeling almost human today, rather than a disease on (rather quivery) legs, so that's a huge relief. Mind you, I still stayed in the living room all night last night - as lying down flat with catarrh is a No Go Area (for reasons I am too generous to explain ...) and I even managed to tot up four hours' sleep. Which is fabulous really. Which brings me to the mystery of the balloon: I had flowers, chocolates and the said (helium) balloon delivered to Lord H for his birthday on Monday and we think the balloon has fallen in love with him. Either that or it's planning something very suspicious indeed. It floats disconsolately around the flat until it finds him and only then does it stay put - yesterday evening, for instance, Lord H brought it into the living room to cheer me up and then he decided to do some reading in the bedroom. When I looked up ten minutes later, the balloon had vanished and a quick search found it hovering above the unsuspecting husband near the curtains. Spooky ... Thinking it was a one-off, I retrieved the balloon and took it back into the living room. Keeping a close eye on it, I watched as it then moved very, very slowly towards the living room door, hovered in the landing for a moment and then turned left and drifted through the bedroom door, coming to rest by Lord H again. It's the turning left that raises the suspicions ... For now, we've tethered its string down with a book on the ironing board, but I'm sure it will find its way out of that at some stage. The plot thickens, Carruthers ...
Anyway from the ridiculous to the sublime: I'm delighted to find out that Every Day Fiction have accepted my flash fiction piece, Night Bees, for publication, so that's thrilling, and I shall look forward to getting a publication date for that. It's one I started to write at the University Writers' Group, so I'm glad it's found a home.
This morning I've trotted off to the hospital to have a post-operation scan. Which sounds easy, my dears, but trust me: it's been complicated. When I received the letter giving me the appointment, I saw they were going to do it the old-fashioned way which means you have to drink a litre of fluid during the two hours before the allotted scan time and hang on to your water (as it were). Bearing in mind my insulin problems, hanging onto the water is always a challenge, so I have to plan to eat lots of salt at the same time to give me a fighting chance of success. So from 7.30am, I've been drinking like a particularly thirsty fish and downing salted cashew nuts along with it (which isn't really that great for the insulin thing either, but needs must etc etc ...). So I arrived at the hospital, congratulating myself on my supreme self-control in the urinary department, and the nurse called me in and asked me to confirm that I was having a kidney scan. I instantly confirmed that I wasn't doing any such thing and I was actually having a uterus scan to see how things were after the op. I also said that I'd drunk my litre of liquid (Lucozade if you're asking) so it should all be okay. She then had a look at my letter, groaned and told me that in fact it was the wrong letter - I should have been sent the one saying I didn't need to drink anything, although I did need to go to the loo before they scanned, as they now have this marvellous new equipment (which I will also not explain out of the kindness of my heart ...) that means the old ways are soooo last year. Sigh ... Anyway, I then trotted off to the loo, undid all the good work I hadn't needed to do in the first place, ditched the ruddy cashews, and all was well. And the good news is she thinks everything looks fine so there's no need to worry - though I should get the results by letter over the next week. Which I have interpreted as being over the next month, naturally.
Oh and I think I'm now seen as the town lunatic (is the position up for grabs? I really must apply ...) - I was walking from the Tesco car park to the hospital (well, it's cheaper that way) when a bird flew past me and I thought in my head: ooh look, a bird! I wonder what it is! However, the words didn't actually remain in my head - they came out of my mouth just as I passed the bus-stop and the woman waiting there gave me a startled look and shrank away. Oh Lordy, do you think I've been in the flat too long? I smiled widely at her (which probably made it worse, thinking about it), decided explanations wouldn't help and carried on. Groan. What else can you do?...
On the way back from town, I also popped into the Ford garage as my windscreen washers (is it just me or is this a very liquid-orientated blog today??) aren't working and no water is coming out either at the back or the front (of the car, people, the car ...). Unfortunately, the words "windscreen washers" completely escaped me as I was trying to tell the very patient James from the Parts Department what the problem was so I just had to keep making windscreen wiper movements with my arms and repeating "no water!". Thankfully, he seemed to understand in the end and he's mended it - without charge, so he must have felt sorry for me. Perhaps they think I'm a special needs driver? Can't say I blame them if they do. Apparently my pipes have frozen up in the bad weather and I might have to have a complete overhaul at some stage although I'm all right for the time being. Hmm, I'm not sure if he was talking about the car or me at that point - it's hard to tell.
Once back home, I have been struggling away with Hallsfoot's Battle - it took ages to get back into, but towards the end I suddenly got to the point of the scene I was writing, so that's a relief really. And I now have 89,500 words under my belt, hurrah. When I go back to it next, I think I'll tackle another Johan scene - I really do have to focus on the battle training, and he's definitely the man (or rather: Gathandrian) for the job.
Tonight, Lord H and I should have been going to the theatre, but actually I think we'll probably end up staying in. I am now sneezing for Britain (always a good sign though) so that certainly wouldn't be popular in the auditorium. And I'm definitely trying for an early night and getting back into the bedroom. But not with that dang balloon.
Today's nice things:
1. Feeling better
2. Lovesick balloons
3. Night Bees being accepted for publication
4. The scan looking okay
5. Hallsfoot
6. A night in.
Anne Brooke
Anne's website - don't drink the water ...
Anyway from the ridiculous to the sublime: I'm delighted to find out that Every Day Fiction have accepted my flash fiction piece, Night Bees, for publication, so that's thrilling, and I shall look forward to getting a publication date for that. It's one I started to write at the University Writers' Group, so I'm glad it's found a home.
This morning I've trotted off to the hospital to have a post-operation scan. Which sounds easy, my dears, but trust me: it's been complicated. When I received the letter giving me the appointment, I saw they were going to do it the old-fashioned way which means you have to drink a litre of fluid during the two hours before the allotted scan time and hang on to your water (as it were). Bearing in mind my insulin problems, hanging onto the water is always a challenge, so I have to plan to eat lots of salt at the same time to give me a fighting chance of success. So from 7.30am, I've been drinking like a particularly thirsty fish and downing salted cashew nuts along with it (which isn't really that great for the insulin thing either, but needs must etc etc ...). So I arrived at the hospital, congratulating myself on my supreme self-control in the urinary department, and the nurse called me in and asked me to confirm that I was having a kidney scan. I instantly confirmed that I wasn't doing any such thing and I was actually having a uterus scan to see how things were after the op. I also said that I'd drunk my litre of liquid (Lucozade if you're asking) so it should all be okay. She then had a look at my letter, groaned and told me that in fact it was the wrong letter - I should have been sent the one saying I didn't need to drink anything, although I did need to go to the loo before they scanned, as they now have this marvellous new equipment (which I will also not explain out of the kindness of my heart ...) that means the old ways are soooo last year. Sigh ... Anyway, I then trotted off to the loo, undid all the good work I hadn't needed to do in the first place, ditched the ruddy cashews, and all was well. And the good news is she thinks everything looks fine so there's no need to worry - though I should get the results by letter over the next week. Which I have interpreted as being over the next month, naturally.
Oh and I think I'm now seen as the town lunatic (is the position up for grabs? I really must apply ...) - I was walking from the Tesco car park to the hospital (well, it's cheaper that way) when a bird flew past me and I thought in my head: ooh look, a bird! I wonder what it is! However, the words didn't actually remain in my head - they came out of my mouth just as I passed the bus-stop and the woman waiting there gave me a startled look and shrank away. Oh Lordy, do you think I've been in the flat too long? I smiled widely at her (which probably made it worse, thinking about it), decided explanations wouldn't help and carried on. Groan. What else can you do?...
On the way back from town, I also popped into the Ford garage as my windscreen washers (is it just me or is this a very liquid-orientated blog today??) aren't working and no water is coming out either at the back or the front (of the car, people, the car ...). Unfortunately, the words "windscreen washers" completely escaped me as I was trying to tell the very patient James from the Parts Department what the problem was so I just had to keep making windscreen wiper movements with my arms and repeating "no water!". Thankfully, he seemed to understand in the end and he's mended it - without charge, so he must have felt sorry for me. Perhaps they think I'm a special needs driver? Can't say I blame them if they do. Apparently my pipes have frozen up in the bad weather and I might have to have a complete overhaul at some stage although I'm all right for the time being. Hmm, I'm not sure if he was talking about the car or me at that point - it's hard to tell.
Once back home, I have been struggling away with Hallsfoot's Battle - it took ages to get back into, but towards the end I suddenly got to the point of the scene I was writing, so that's a relief really. And I now have 89,500 words under my belt, hurrah. When I go back to it next, I think I'll tackle another Johan scene - I really do have to focus on the battle training, and he's definitely the man (or rather: Gathandrian) for the job.
Tonight, Lord H and I should have been going to the theatre, but actually I think we'll probably end up staying in. I am now sneezing for Britain (always a good sign though) so that certainly wouldn't be popular in the auditorium. And I'm definitely trying for an early night and getting back into the bedroom. But not with that dang balloon.
Today's nice things:
1. Feeling better
2. Lovesick balloons
3. Night Bees being accepted for publication
4. The scan looking okay
5. Hallsfoot
6. A night in.
Anne Brooke
Anne's website - don't drink the water ...
Tuesday, January 06, 2009
Hospitals, contracts and the happiness stakes
Got into work early today as I had to go to see the original (nice) consultant at 9.40am. So that was a hugely early lunch hour, when all’s said and done. Anyway, she’s moved from the clinic back to being full-time at the hospital now, so I had to face the joys of the Royal Surrey. Not what you want on your first week back. While there, I had another CA125 blood test to see how things are going after the op (hope to be able to get the results from the doctor late next week). Meanwhile, the consultant is happy with me not being on the Metformin or the HRT patches, but is pleased that I'm using the oestrogen gel twice a day now. Alongside that, she wants to put me on a low dose of progesterone to balance everything out and keep the endometriosis under control, so she'll be writing to the doctor to see if he'll prescribe that one. Let’s hope he doesn’t object, as I don’t want to get involved in another medical stand-off. Not after last year, groan … The only worry is that the progesterone might set me back in the depression stakes, but if the dose is low enough it might be okay - but I have to keep an eye on it. That part of it does niggle at me, I have to admit – I’ve been doing so well on the feeling happy levels lately (famous last words, eh!). I know it’s necessary for medical reasons but I really don’t want to be any worse off than I am now. Still, I’ll have to wait and see, I suppose. And she's booking me in for another scan later in the year. Goodness me, it’s all go, eh. No wonder I’m tired. Still, there’s one good thing: apparently my Body Mass Index is wonderful. Good-oh. I can add it to the positive side of my health list, alongside the generally amazing state of my liver. Hurrah.
For the rest of the day, I’ve been annoying the boss (who’s just returned today) with all the stuff I’ve been storing up to ask him over the last few weeks. I bet he’s glad he’s back, eh … This includes the nightmare quality document task I haven’t been able to get my head round at all, so it’s been fun and games for sure. I think quality admin has that effect on me – the brain disappears and I have absolutely no idea what it’s for, apart from minimising our humanity. Ah well, this is presumably why I’m not Vice-Chancellor then … A fact the academic community are of course hugely grateful for.
I’ve also been super-efficient and remembered to bring my mobile phone recharger in so I can wind the phone up. I so rarely use the darn thing that it’s a mystery every time. Mind you, more people – bizarrely – seem to be texting me these days, and really I have no idea why it’s so popular. It takes me ages to reply – it’s much quicker to type out an email or just phone – and I really hate it. And yes that’s true even if 90% of the time my reply is one word only. It’s such a bind. As well as being all I can manage before boredom kicks in. If I ruled the world, I would ban texting. No appeals.
Tonight, it’s part two of the Anne Frank series on TV. I caught most of last night’s, which was a real eye-opener. I read the book so long ago that I’d forgotten half the details, I think. It’s all very poignant, but also very strong. If you see what I mean. Oh, and there’s also Country House Rescue, which I am now utterly hooked on. That Ruth who presents it is scary but good. Much like me then, ho ho …
Ooh, and my signed contract for Painting from Life has arrived from Eternal Press so that's good news. Am looking forward to the edits at some point.
Today’s nice things:
1. Not being V-C
2. Remembering to recharge the phone
3. TV
4. Getting my contract.
Anne Brooke
Anne's website - wondering about her happiness levels ...
For the rest of the day, I’ve been annoying the boss (who’s just returned today) with all the stuff I’ve been storing up to ask him over the last few weeks. I bet he’s glad he’s back, eh … This includes the nightmare quality document task I haven’t been able to get my head round at all, so it’s been fun and games for sure. I think quality admin has that effect on me – the brain disappears and I have absolutely no idea what it’s for, apart from minimising our humanity. Ah well, this is presumably why I’m not Vice-Chancellor then … A fact the academic community are of course hugely grateful for.
I’ve also been super-efficient and remembered to bring my mobile phone recharger in so I can wind the phone up. I so rarely use the darn thing that it’s a mystery every time. Mind you, more people – bizarrely – seem to be texting me these days, and really I have no idea why it’s so popular. It takes me ages to reply – it’s much quicker to type out an email or just phone – and I really hate it. And yes that’s true even if 90% of the time my reply is one word only. It’s such a bind. As well as being all I can manage before boredom kicks in. If I ruled the world, I would ban texting. No appeals.
Tonight, it’s part two of the Anne Frank series on TV. I caught most of last night’s, which was a real eye-opener. I read the book so long ago that I’d forgotten half the details, I think. It’s all very poignant, but also very strong. If you see what I mean. Oh, and there’s also Country House Rescue, which I am now utterly hooked on. That Ruth who presents it is scary but good. Much like me then, ho ho …
Ooh, and my signed contract for Painting from Life has arrived from Eternal Press so that's good news. Am looking forward to the edits at some point.
Today’s nice things:
1. Not being V-C
2. Remembering to recharge the phone
3. TV
4. Getting my contract.
Anne Brooke
Anne's website - wondering about her happiness levels ...
Saturday, October 11, 2008
Post-hospital recuperation and nearly a Mslexia mention ...
Well, I'm out of hospital, phew - and I do have to say how absolutely lovely everyone at Mount Alvernia was, and that includes all the wonderful ward staff, the consultant and anaesthetist too, hurrah. And also a HUGE thank you to everyone who sent good wishes - I really appreciated it, as I was pretty scared. In case you hadn't realised ... Thank you. Mind you, I really do love having a bed where I can move the pillow end up and down electronically to the height desired, plus a little orange button that brings a nurse immediately to sort me out - ah bliss ... And the TV and ensuite bathroom were lovely too. I'm wondering about installing a little orange button that brings Lord H instantly to my side, but I suspect he will not be too keen ...
Anyway, In the end the actual op was rather more complex than the consultant anticipated, I think, and I was in the operating theatre for rather longer than expected. POSSIBLE SQUEAMISH ALERT!! - The good news is they don't reckon it's cancer, though they have removed the cyst and sent it for testing just in case. The surprise as far as everyone was concerned is that it's apparently obvious that I've had galloping endometriosis ("all over the place, my dear" - end of consultant quote!) for years, but it hasn't been diagnosed. (I was tested for it 20 years ago, but the testing equipment then - being not as good as now - never picked it up). Anyway, the consultant ... um ... hoovered(!) appropriately, which is what took so long - though I may have to go for further treatment with an endometriosis expert. We'll have to see. However she was thrilled with the state of my liver, which she says is marvellous, double hurrah. Always good to have one bodily part you can rely on is what I say. And my liver has of course done sterling service over the years, though it's less busy now ... END OF SQUEAMISH ALERT!
It's also apparent that I don't take well to anaesthetic - say no more! - a factor I should have remembered from my childhood stay in hospital many, many years ago. Anyway, I spent most of Thursday evening and all of Friday being hugely groggy and confused (much like an Essex Girl weekend then ...), and am really pretty tired now. Also very sore. But I have dressings, plasters and at least the stitches are out, so I'm well on the road to recovery. Or at least I'm further away from the starting block. Anyway I'm eating normally, triple hurrahs, plus I've managed to wash, including my hair, so I do feel more alive and human than I did. Being clean really makes a difference, you know.
So today I've done nothing more than watch TV, sleep and do crossword puzzles and sudokus. Which has been rather enjoyable. Though it is odd that the cold I had just before I went into hospital appears to have returned, dammit, but in milder form. Curiouser and curiouser indeed ...
However, the nice news has been reading the article on Flame Books in Mslexia in which A Dangerous Man so nearly got a mention in the words: "Since their launch in 2003, Flame Books have built up a list of 13 titles that range from short story anthologies and novels of rural meltdown, to a gay crime thriller - an unusual foray into genre fiction for them." Ah, Michael, so near and so far, eh! Also lovely to see a special mention for Megan Taylor's tour-de-force of a novel, How We Were Lost and for Laura Solomon's utter marvellous short story collection, Alternative Medicine - both of which you should rush to buy and read at once. They're humdingers of books.
The other positive news is that Avari Press - the small US publisher to whom I sent the initial package of The Gifting - have emailed to say that its been through several reviews, they're still impressed and they want to evaluate it further. Well, that's nice to hear - when I saw the email come through, I was just expecting the usual "thanks, but no thanks". Now, even if they decide against it, at least I know the first few chapters do have the ability to hook someone out there. Ah, there's hope, Carruthers - it's just very very tiny, and a long way away ...
Today's nice things:
1. Being at home
2. Orange instant nurse buttons
3. Bedroom TV & ensuite bathrooms
4. The nearly mention in Mslexia
5. Avari Press being impressed with The Gifting
6. Puzzles
7. Regular naps.
Anne Brooke
Anne's website
Anyway, In the end the actual op was rather more complex than the consultant anticipated, I think, and I was in the operating theatre for rather longer than expected. POSSIBLE SQUEAMISH ALERT!! - The good news is they don't reckon it's cancer, though they have removed the cyst and sent it for testing just in case. The surprise as far as everyone was concerned is that it's apparently obvious that I've had galloping endometriosis ("all over the place, my dear" - end of consultant quote!) for years, but it hasn't been diagnosed. (I was tested for it 20 years ago, but the testing equipment then - being not as good as now - never picked it up). Anyway, the consultant ... um ... hoovered(!) appropriately, which is what took so long - though I may have to go for further treatment with an endometriosis expert. We'll have to see. However she was thrilled with the state of my liver, which she says is marvellous, double hurrah. Always good to have one bodily part you can rely on is what I say. And my liver has of course done sterling service over the years, though it's less busy now ... END OF SQUEAMISH ALERT!
It's also apparent that I don't take well to anaesthetic - say no more! - a factor I should have remembered from my childhood stay in hospital many, many years ago. Anyway, I spent most of Thursday evening and all of Friday being hugely groggy and confused (much like an Essex Girl weekend then ...), and am really pretty tired now. Also very sore. But I have dressings, plasters and at least the stitches are out, so I'm well on the road to recovery. Or at least I'm further away from the starting block. Anyway I'm eating normally, triple hurrahs, plus I've managed to wash, including my hair, so I do feel more alive and human than I did. Being clean really makes a difference, you know.
So today I've done nothing more than watch TV, sleep and do crossword puzzles and sudokus. Which has been rather enjoyable. Though it is odd that the cold I had just before I went into hospital appears to have returned, dammit, but in milder form. Curiouser and curiouser indeed ...
However, the nice news has been reading the article on Flame Books in Mslexia in which A Dangerous Man so nearly got a mention in the words: "Since their launch in 2003, Flame Books have built up a list of 13 titles that range from short story anthologies and novels of rural meltdown, to a gay crime thriller - an unusual foray into genre fiction for them." Ah, Michael, so near and so far, eh! Also lovely to see a special mention for Megan Taylor's tour-de-force of a novel, How We Were Lost and for Laura Solomon's utter marvellous short story collection, Alternative Medicine - both of which you should rush to buy and read at once. They're humdingers of books.
The other positive news is that Avari Press - the small US publisher to whom I sent the initial package of The Gifting - have emailed to say that its been through several reviews, they're still impressed and they want to evaluate it further. Well, that's nice to hear - when I saw the email come through, I was just expecting the usual "thanks, but no thanks". Now, even if they decide against it, at least I know the first few chapters do have the ability to hook someone out there. Ah, there's hope, Carruthers - it's just very very tiny, and a long way away ...
Today's nice things:
1. Being at home
2. Orange instant nurse buttons
3. Bedroom TV & ensuite bathrooms
4. The nearly mention in Mslexia
5. Avari Press being impressed with The Gifting
6. Puzzles
7. Regular naps.
Anne Brooke
Anne's website
Wednesday, October 08, 2008
Contracts, reviews and sock considerations
Managed to grab a decent amount of sleep yesterday, thank goodness, but have still taken the day off today as I did feel rather shaky this morning. I also want to be as well as possible for tomorrow, which I think is probably a sensible move.
Anyway, today there's good news and mixed news ('twas ever thus ...). I was delighted to receive both my eBook contracts from Bristlecone Pine Press, one for Thorn in the Flesh and the other for Pink Champagne and Apple Juice. So I've read through and signed those and will get them back to Leslie next week.
And the great Scott Pack has nobly flicked through Maloney's Law (an act surely well beyond the Call of Duty ...) and considers it to have a certain charm, though it's not as slick or professional as other crime novels. So a rather mixed response, sigh. Ah well - as I said in the comments which you can find here, we Essex Gals don't really understand the concept of slick professionalism. Unless it comes with white stilettos of course ... But I'm certainly grateful for the mention, as Lord knows I need all the help I can get - so thank you for that, Scott!
This afternoon, I've packed for my hospital stay tomorrow, though I do wonder if - now I'm not having the ablation - they might let me out early. That would be good, but I'm not taking any chances so have packed anyway. I can always bring it all home again. Hell, I've even remembered my specially purchased flannelette nightie, so that should get them running to the hills for sure. I've also taken it hugely easy and done nothing to further my literary career today (professional or otherwise, tee hee ...) but instead have watched my DVD (yes - we do DVDs too here in the twilight zone!) of My Beautiful Launderette. A gorgeous film - you can't really go wrong with Daniel Day-Lewis and a dash of boy-on-boy action. All so gloriously 80s.
Oh, and I've decided to change my sock-wearing routine. Sorry if this is dull - or possibly hugely OCD - but I always wear black socks when I'm working and happy socks (ie non-black ones) at weekends. That's so I know when I'm supposed to be having fun. I decided a couple of weeks ago that, in line with my slow withdrawal from other aspects of the dreaded Writing Game, I'd wear happy socks on Thursdays and Fridays too, as I wasn't going to view writing as "work" any more. I'm going to try to view it as a fun hobby, hence the happy socks. I think it might be helping, somehow, in a weird sort of a way. And as the Doyenne of the Non-Professional Novel, I do of course have standards to maintain ...
Anyway, if the hospital keep me in, then I should be back on Friday, but probably won't feel much like blogging. But we'll see. I hope both my readers (Gawd bless you, sirs ...) have a good end of week, and hope to catch up soon.
Today's nice things:
1. Signing two contracts
2. Getting a mention on Scott's blog
3. Films
4. The existential mystery of socks.
Anne Brooke
Anne's Website
Anyway, today there's good news and mixed news ('twas ever thus ...). I was delighted to receive both my eBook contracts from Bristlecone Pine Press, one for Thorn in the Flesh and the other for Pink Champagne and Apple Juice. So I've read through and signed those and will get them back to Leslie next week.
And the great Scott Pack has nobly flicked through Maloney's Law (an act surely well beyond the Call of Duty ...) and considers it to have a certain charm, though it's not as slick or professional as other crime novels. So a rather mixed response, sigh. Ah well - as I said in the comments which you can find here, we Essex Gals don't really understand the concept of slick professionalism. Unless it comes with white stilettos of course ... But I'm certainly grateful for the mention, as Lord knows I need all the help I can get - so thank you for that, Scott!
This afternoon, I've packed for my hospital stay tomorrow, though I do wonder if - now I'm not having the ablation - they might let me out early. That would be good, but I'm not taking any chances so have packed anyway. I can always bring it all home again. Hell, I've even remembered my specially purchased flannelette nightie, so that should get them running to the hills for sure. I've also taken it hugely easy and done nothing to further my literary career today (professional or otherwise, tee hee ...) but instead have watched my DVD (yes - we do DVDs too here in the twilight zone!) of My Beautiful Launderette. A gorgeous film - you can't really go wrong with Daniel Day-Lewis and a dash of boy-on-boy action. All so gloriously 80s.
Oh, and I've decided to change my sock-wearing routine. Sorry if this is dull - or possibly hugely OCD - but I always wear black socks when I'm working and happy socks (ie non-black ones) at weekends. That's so I know when I'm supposed to be having fun. I decided a couple of weeks ago that, in line with my slow withdrawal from other aspects of the dreaded Writing Game, I'd wear happy socks on Thursdays and Fridays too, as I wasn't going to view writing as "work" any more. I'm going to try to view it as a fun hobby, hence the happy socks. I think it might be helping, somehow, in a weird sort of a way. And as the Doyenne of the Non-Professional Novel, I do of course have standards to maintain ...
Anyway, if the hospital keep me in, then I should be back on Friday, but probably won't feel much like blogging. But we'll see. I hope both my readers (Gawd bless you, sirs ...) have a good end of week, and hope to catch up soon.
Today's nice things:
1. Signing two contracts
2. Getting a mention on Scott's blog
3. Films
4. The existential mystery of socks.
Anne Brooke
Anne's Website
Friday, October 03, 2008
Calm down, dear ...
No real need to cover your ears and blush today, people, as the Swearing Queen of Godalming is (relatively) under control. Or - which may be more likely - too drained to shout. Thank goodness for calming pills, eh. Anyway, you'll be pleased to hear that I finally got the all-important operation code last night due to a combination of (a) my very talented and totally lovely sister-in-law-to-be Googling it for me (thank you, Sue - I was way too stressed to think of that, doh!); (b) the Clinic finally ringing me up with a list of possible codes; and (c) the Consultant (well, gosh, I must indeed have sounded desperate ...) herself ringing me up and suggesting that I didn't have to have either the D&C or the ablation, and could in fact just have the Laporoscopy and the Hysteroscopy, but she'd discuss it more with me next week. Lordy, but it's getting more complicated by the minute (not least due to her rather snippety comments about my nice GP's "interference" - then again, dear, at least he's had the decency to read my medical notes, and no-one else round here has). Anyway, I'm keeping calm (deeeeep breaths and humming ...) and I'm not going to think about it till next Thursday. I'm fully convinced I'll opt for just the 2 operations however. Let's minimise the fiddling around is what I say.
Mind you, Lord H was lovely when he arrived back from work to my tale of woe and pain last night. He said I should have rung him - actually I did try a couple of times but was too stressed out to speak so didn't complete the call. Lord H's response was I should have rung anyway and I didn't have to speak - he would have known it was me by the wild and desperate sobbing. What a hero, eh! And, no doubt, just one of the many things Today's Company Secretary has to deal with in a normal day, ho ho. It does however take us back to the days when we first started going out together in our 20s, a decade when I spent most of my time in emotional melt-down bewailing my fate. Ah, same old, same old then. He probably thinks all wives are supposed to be Basket Cases ...
Anyway, inspired by angst and misery, I have come up with my first poem for a while, so hell there's always a silver lining. Somewhere.
My fictional life
I’m planning a fictional life.
It’ll be much better
than the one I have.
In it, I’ll always be calm
and kind and blonde,
with teeth I don’t have to struggle with.
Everything I do
will turn out well
and I won’t have to spend
countless hours trying
to make things happen,
sending messages to people
who never respond, waiting
on the phone
for the canned Mozart
to end, repeating information
that no-one listened to
when I said it first –
– or second –, being invisible
to waitresses or at bars, grunting
at a too jolly dentist, or chewing
the carpet and spitting.
Yes, I’m planning a calm,
kind, blonde fictional life.
I highly recommend it.
Oh, and another good thing has come out of yesterday: one of my transatlantic blog readers, Dale Estey, was very chuffed to learn the phrase "arsed off" and will now apparently be using it on a regular basis. Happy to help, Dale - and thank you for letting me know!
Meanwhile, today has been astonishingly calm. I slept late, had a lovely long bath and didn't actually get dressed until midday. Lordy but I needed that, I can tell you. I then drove to Sainsbury's in Godalming to get the essential chicken-and-lemon wrap, without which my Fridays are shot to pieces, and was just walking up to the shop when this charming lady-of-a-certain-age accosted me in the politest manner possible and asked me where her car might be. She was so terribly sweet and nice that I decided against running away, screaming "you are a mad woman - please don't hurt me", and instead spent several actually rather life-affirming minutes making sure her loaded trolley didn't escape and seeing if she recognised any of the vehicles. We worked out between us that it was probably a beige-coloured Citroen and then - ye gods and put out the bunting! - we even found it, hurrah! Weirdly, it was the most normal conversation I've had with a real-live person all week. I didn't know you could still have those kind of chats these days. So thank you for that, Jeannie (and nice to know you've got a sister called Anne too ...)!
Also astonishingly, I've finished the scene in Hallsfoot's Battle that was one of the many things I was struggling with yesterday, and am on to one I might even understand more. So it's now at the grand total of 42,000 words and I have an inkling of a plan for the next page. Now, there's a novelty for sure.
I've finished reading Douglas Houston's poetry collection, The Welsh Book of the Dead. Some great poetry in there, and I thoroughly enjoyed a larger proportion of poems out of the whole than I usually do. Much larger indeed. Most of all, I was blown away by the villanelles and their delightfully humane precision. Anyone who can do more than one villanelle that's worth reading is highly rated in my book. I've only done two in my poetic lifetime, and one of them is a bit dodgy. Houston's a veritable Villanelle Master. Definitely recommended and I shall be looking out for more of his stuff.
Today's nice things (ye gods, it's back!):
1. People's kindness - much appreciated, I can tell you
2. Lord H
3. Poetry
4. Baths
5. The mad - but charming - car woman
6. Writing
7. Houston's villanelle expertise.
Anne Brooke
Anne's website
Mind you, Lord H was lovely when he arrived back from work to my tale of woe and pain last night. He said I should have rung him - actually I did try a couple of times but was too stressed out to speak so didn't complete the call. Lord H's response was I should have rung anyway and I didn't have to speak - he would have known it was me by the wild and desperate sobbing. What a hero, eh! And, no doubt, just one of the many things Today's Company Secretary has to deal with in a normal day, ho ho. It does however take us back to the days when we first started going out together in our 20s, a decade when I spent most of my time in emotional melt-down bewailing my fate. Ah, same old, same old then. He probably thinks all wives are supposed to be Basket Cases ...
Anyway, inspired by angst and misery, I have come up with my first poem for a while, so hell there's always a silver lining. Somewhere.
My fictional life
I’m planning a fictional life.
It’ll be much better
than the one I have.
In it, I’ll always be calm
and kind and blonde,
with teeth I don’t have to struggle with.
Everything I do
will turn out well
and I won’t have to spend
countless hours trying
to make things happen,
sending messages to people
who never respond, waiting
on the phone
for the canned Mozart
to end, repeating information
that no-one listened to
when I said it first –
– or second –, being invisible
to waitresses or at bars, grunting
at a too jolly dentist, or chewing
the carpet and spitting.
Yes, I’m planning a calm,
kind, blonde fictional life.
I highly recommend it.
Oh, and another good thing has come out of yesterday: one of my transatlantic blog readers, Dale Estey, was very chuffed to learn the phrase "arsed off" and will now apparently be using it on a regular basis. Happy to help, Dale - and thank you for letting me know!
Meanwhile, today has been astonishingly calm. I slept late, had a lovely long bath and didn't actually get dressed until midday. Lordy but I needed that, I can tell you. I then drove to Sainsbury's in Godalming to get the essential chicken-and-lemon wrap, without which my Fridays are shot to pieces, and was just walking up to the shop when this charming lady-of-a-certain-age accosted me in the politest manner possible and asked me where her car might be. She was so terribly sweet and nice that I decided against running away, screaming "you are a mad woman - please don't hurt me", and instead spent several actually rather life-affirming minutes making sure her loaded trolley didn't escape and seeing if she recognised any of the vehicles. We worked out between us that it was probably a beige-coloured Citroen and then - ye gods and put out the bunting! - we even found it, hurrah! Weirdly, it was the most normal conversation I've had with a real-live person all week. I didn't know you could still have those kind of chats these days. So thank you for that, Jeannie (and nice to know you've got a sister called Anne too ...)!
Also astonishingly, I've finished the scene in Hallsfoot's Battle that was one of the many things I was struggling with yesterday, and am on to one I might even understand more. So it's now at the grand total of 42,000 words and I have an inkling of a plan for the next page. Now, there's a novelty for sure.
I've finished reading Douglas Houston's poetry collection, The Welsh Book of the Dead. Some great poetry in there, and I thoroughly enjoyed a larger proportion of poems out of the whole than I usually do. Much larger indeed. Most of all, I was blown away by the villanelles and their delightfully humane precision. Anyone who can do more than one villanelle that's worth reading is highly rated in my book. I've only done two in my poetic lifetime, and one of them is a bit dodgy. Houston's a veritable Villanelle Master. Definitely recommended and I shall be looking out for more of his stuff.
Today's nice things (ye gods, it's back!):
1. People's kindness - much appreciated, I can tell you
2. Lord H
3. Poetry
4. Baths
5. The mad - but charming - car woman
6. Writing
7. Houston's villanelle expertise.
Anne Brooke
Anne's website
Thursday, October 02, 2008
Sick of hospitals and sick of waiting
Not a good day today, I'm sorry to say. I suspect this will be a rather short blog as I'm utterly wiped out in terms of energy. So, hey, there's always a silver lining for my reader then ...
Most of my day has been spent ringing PPP, ringing the hospital and ringing the Surrey Park Clinic. Over and over and over again. All I want is for someone - anyone, please! - to give me a code for a D&C operation, as PPP won't speak to me, or even acknowledge my presence without it. It was actually so incredibly stressful that at one point I couldn't stop shaking, so lay down on the bed and cried for a while. I still feel incredibly tearful now, as it's late afternoon and nothing's been resolved. I desperately, desperately want it to be sorted out by tomorrow as I can't bear the thought of starting the working week next week, knowing the op is on Thursday and I'm still struggling with the admin side of it all. I think that, if I don't hear anything from anyone today that's remotely helpful, I'm going to drive to the Clinic tomorrow and just sit there sobbing until someone gives me the fucking code. I mean, for God's sake, how hard can it be?? Give me the fucking code, for crying out loud!!!! I'm not even worried about whether it will or won't be what they end up doing to me next week - I just want the code so it goes on PPP's paperwork and is therefore an option I can have. I don't know why everyone is making it so bloody difficult. Fuckers, all of them. Even the nice ones.
Not only that, but I am utterly and completely arsed off with waiting, waiting, waiting. I'm waiting for publishers to reject The Gifting so I can get on with finding my own small publishers, selling my usual 50 or so copies and then having done with it. (Though actually I've already sent a partial MS out to a couple of small fantasy/gay publishers as I really don't see why I have to sit around doing nothing with what I know is a damn good book ...). I'm waiting for my agent to acknowledge receipt of my email with The Bones of Summer in it. I really don't want to have to contact him via Facebook again simply in order to get a response. I understand quite well that I'm barely in the category of pond life - people don't have to keep rubbing that fact in ... Plus I'm waiting for both him and PD Publishing to acknowledge receipt of my email of a couple of weeks ago telling them I was going into hospital. And I'm sorry but if I get an email from someone I know telling me they're going into hospital, then I do acknowledge it and ask after them - it seems the least I can do ... I do know everyone's too busy these days to communicate, but surely it's not too much to expect? Hell, more fool me then. I'm fed up with waiting - it's crap. Such a bloody, bloody waste of time and spirit.
Honestly I hate the writing business. It's horrible, horrible, horrible. Sometimes I wish I'd never bothered to put pen to paper for that long-ago first novel after all. Fuck it eh. It's been a bad writing week too. I've only managed a few hundred words of Hallsfoot's Battle today and I can't get my head round what I'm supposed to be doing. Neither can I find the energy to care.
Sorry, but I can't be bothered with Writerly Facts - I'm too arsed off to think about them. And I'm too arsed off with finding today's nice things too. I can't think of any. Sigh.
Anne Brooke
Anne's Nearly Pondlife Website
Most of my day has been spent ringing PPP, ringing the hospital and ringing the Surrey Park Clinic. Over and over and over again. All I want is for someone - anyone, please! - to give me a code for a D&C operation, as PPP won't speak to me, or even acknowledge my presence without it. It was actually so incredibly stressful that at one point I couldn't stop shaking, so lay down on the bed and cried for a while. I still feel incredibly tearful now, as it's late afternoon and nothing's been resolved. I desperately, desperately want it to be sorted out by tomorrow as I can't bear the thought of starting the working week next week, knowing the op is on Thursday and I'm still struggling with the admin side of it all. I think that, if I don't hear anything from anyone today that's remotely helpful, I'm going to drive to the Clinic tomorrow and just sit there sobbing until someone gives me the fucking code. I mean, for God's sake, how hard can it be?? Give me the fucking code, for crying out loud!!!! I'm not even worried about whether it will or won't be what they end up doing to me next week - I just want the code so it goes on PPP's paperwork and is therefore an option I can have. I don't know why everyone is making it so bloody difficult. Fuckers, all of them. Even the nice ones.
Not only that, but I am utterly and completely arsed off with waiting, waiting, waiting. I'm waiting for publishers to reject The Gifting so I can get on with finding my own small publishers, selling my usual 50 or so copies and then having done with it. (Though actually I've already sent a partial MS out to a couple of small fantasy/gay publishers as I really don't see why I have to sit around doing nothing with what I know is a damn good book ...). I'm waiting for my agent to acknowledge receipt of my email with The Bones of Summer in it. I really don't want to have to contact him via Facebook again simply in order to get a response. I understand quite well that I'm barely in the category of pond life - people don't have to keep rubbing that fact in ... Plus I'm waiting for both him and PD Publishing to acknowledge receipt of my email of a couple of weeks ago telling them I was going into hospital. And I'm sorry but if I get an email from someone I know telling me they're going into hospital, then I do acknowledge it and ask after them - it seems the least I can do ... I do know everyone's too busy these days to communicate, but surely it's not too much to expect? Hell, more fool me then. I'm fed up with waiting - it's crap. Such a bloody, bloody waste of time and spirit.
Honestly I hate the writing business. It's horrible, horrible, horrible. Sometimes I wish I'd never bothered to put pen to paper for that long-ago first novel after all. Fuck it eh. It's been a bad writing week too. I've only managed a few hundred words of Hallsfoot's Battle today and I can't get my head round what I'm supposed to be doing. Neither can I find the energy to care.
Sorry, but I can't be bothered with Writerly Facts - I'm too arsed off to think about them. And I'm too arsed off with finding today's nice things too. I can't think of any. Sigh.
Anne Brooke
Anne's Nearly Pondlife Website
Monday, September 29, 2008
Mad timetabling and medical rows
Much to my astonishment, I actually managed to get an appointment with the nice doctor at 8.30 this morning, so as I only found out at 8.10am, it was a mad rush to get there. Once again, he was very sweet and helpful, but I’ve been left with even more confusion and decisions to make than I had before. Groan. The upshot is that he's concerned about:
1. The ablation - he doesn't think I need it and says the new consultant does have a rather steamroller approach to stuff, even though she's good. He suggests a coil (which I don't want) or a D&C which is an alternative and less extreme option. To be honest, I really didn't want to have to think about anything the week before the op, but it appears I must. I just feel really upset and confused about it all, particularly as the consultant said the doctors probably wouldn't like it. I'm stuck in the middle of a medical disagreement - not a great place to be. At the moment I'm leaning towards a D&C, if that's the moderate answer, but I suppose I'll need to write yet another letter to the hospital & everyone, plus ring PPP up again. And I suppose I'll have to do it this week if it's going to mean anything. Deep deep sigh.
2. Plus he doesn't think I really need to be on the HRT patches or the Metformin, if I didn't have any real symptoms I was worried about beforehand to justify it (though he's happy with the gel). He's therefore taken those off the repeat prescription info and suggests I use what I have, then come in to see him after I've seen the consultant at the end of next month so we can see how things are. Lordy, but I’m muddled. I shall definitely try to persuade Lord H to go with me to that appointment – maybe all the appointments – as otherwise who the heck knows what will happen. Honestly, it’s all very disheartening, and I am so tired and fed up with it all. I could sleep for a week, I can tell you. Another deeeeep sigh …
In the meantime, work has been hugely busy. Lots of stressed students to deal with today, plus concerned parents, and I’ve spent most of the morning trying to find solutions to complex issues. Though I do sympathise – I hated my Freshers’ Week too (way too much forced fun and forced socialising – it drove me insane …) and didn’t actually make any friends I liked until the second year. The only thing that got me through it at all was how much I loved the academic work. Perhaps that isn’t what I should be telling them though – not at this stage, I fear.
Thank goodness for my lunchtime session of reflexology – I couldn’t have got through the day without it.
I’ve also been playing with the Timetable from Hell. Which is strangely satisfying in a secretarial sad way. We’re giving three sets of 10 minute talks to each department on campus, and I must slot them all in before (a) my brain explodes; and (b) Christmas. Never say we don’t care here in Student Care Services.
And, if I can get all that under control, I’m having to do the shopping after work – Lordy, what a joy today is turning out to be. Not. Thank goodness for Who Do You Think You Are to relax in front of later, hurrah. Now there's a question.
Time since The Gifting Submission: 4 months, 1 week and 2 days
Time since The Bones of Summer Agent Submission: 1 day (though this isn’t entirely fair as he’s not back till Tuesday …)
Today’s nice things:
1. Getting the doctors appointment without too much effort
2. Reflexology
3. TV.
Anne Brooke
Anne's website
1. The ablation - he doesn't think I need it and says the new consultant does have a rather steamroller approach to stuff, even though she's good. He suggests a coil (which I don't want) or a D&C which is an alternative and less extreme option. To be honest, I really didn't want to have to think about anything the week before the op, but it appears I must. I just feel really upset and confused about it all, particularly as the consultant said the doctors probably wouldn't like it. I'm stuck in the middle of a medical disagreement - not a great place to be. At the moment I'm leaning towards a D&C, if that's the moderate answer, but I suppose I'll need to write yet another letter to the hospital & everyone, plus ring PPP up again. And I suppose I'll have to do it this week if it's going to mean anything. Deep deep sigh.
2. Plus he doesn't think I really need to be on the HRT patches or the Metformin, if I didn't have any real symptoms I was worried about beforehand to justify it (though he's happy with the gel). He's therefore taken those off the repeat prescription info and suggests I use what I have, then come in to see him after I've seen the consultant at the end of next month so we can see how things are. Lordy, but I’m muddled. I shall definitely try to persuade Lord H to go with me to that appointment – maybe all the appointments – as otherwise who the heck knows what will happen. Honestly, it’s all very disheartening, and I am so tired and fed up with it all. I could sleep for a week, I can tell you. Another deeeeep sigh …
In the meantime, work has been hugely busy. Lots of stressed students to deal with today, plus concerned parents, and I’ve spent most of the morning trying to find solutions to complex issues. Though I do sympathise – I hated my Freshers’ Week too (way too much forced fun and forced socialising – it drove me insane …) and didn’t actually make any friends I liked until the second year. The only thing that got me through it at all was how much I loved the academic work. Perhaps that isn’t what I should be telling them though – not at this stage, I fear.
Thank goodness for my lunchtime session of reflexology – I couldn’t have got through the day without it.
I’ve also been playing with the Timetable from Hell. Which is strangely satisfying in a secretarial sad way. We’re giving three sets of 10 minute talks to each department on campus, and I must slot them all in before (a) my brain explodes; and (b) Christmas. Never say we don’t care here in Student Care Services.
And, if I can get all that under control, I’m having to do the shopping after work – Lordy, what a joy today is turning out to be. Not. Thank goodness for Who Do You Think You Are to relax in front of later, hurrah. Now there's a question.
Time since The Gifting Submission: 4 months, 1 week and 2 days
Time since The Bones of Summer Agent Submission: 1 day (though this isn’t entirely fair as he’s not back till Tuesday …)
Today’s nice things:
1. Getting the doctors appointment without too much effort
2. Reflexology
3. TV.
Anne Brooke
Anne's website
Friday, September 19, 2008
Golf, haircuts and yet more hospital fun
Had a great time on the golf course today - amazing to see the summer at last. Mind you, I went out fully equipped in jumper, woolly hat, gloves and coat, and spent most of the time gradually stripping off. To a reasonable level, of course ... Not that there was anyone to see if I had gone rather more insane than usual as the course was virtually bare. Ho ho. All very odd anyway, but Marian and I appreciated being almost the only ones there. And I soooooo nearly got a birdie on the 9th. Honestly. I was only this much away from the hole. See? Still, I had to make do with a par. Oh how sad. I shall have to trade off the memory though as, what with Marian now being on a long holiday, we won't be able to play again for ages. Sigh.
Back home, I was just in time for the hairdresser, so now have a haircut that makes me appear normal. We're growing it long, you know. Soon I will look soft and feminine and elegant. Hmm, don't wait up then is my advice.
And I've spent a large part of the rest of the day ringing up clinics and booking myself in privately for my upcoming operations. Well, I'm covered via Lord H (neither the University nor my royalty penny stretching to such luxury, of course ...) so why not, eh? So, I've rung up PPP, then I've rung up the NHS hospital, then I've rung up the Clinic. Then I've rung up the Clinic again just to chase them, and have booked D Day as 9 -10 October in the very lovely Mount Alvernia Hospital. I then rang PPP again to let them know, plus the NHS hospital to cancel my place on their waiting list. I then sat down and completed the claim form which PPP kindly emailed to me, and on Monday - if I get a chance at the onset of Freshers' Week, groan - I shall copy it and send it over to the consultant at the Clinic - as she also works there as well as at the hospital, apparently. And then all I have to do is wait till the 9th, when she will no doubt take her revenge for my daring to answer back by taking my fingers off while she's fiddling around on the rest of me, sigh ... Oh, and I've cancelled the dinner with friends we'd scheduled for here on the 10th, as I suspect I won't be up to anything much more than groaning at the point. I'll have to reschedule later.
After that, I've had a well-earned nap. Which I desperately needed as I only got about 4 hours sleep last night as I was too busy worrying about all the crap and hyperventilating. As you do. At least I feel more in control today and am hoping for slightly more sleep tonight. Please God. Thank goodness for the joys of Ugly Betty and QI on TV though - can't wait.
Number of days since The Gifting submission: 3 months, 4 weeks, 2 days.
Bonus fact: Number of times I've actually met my agent in the 3 years I've been with him: None.
My consequent status as Viable Commercial Author: Low to negligible.
Today's nice things:
1. Golf
2. Haircut
3. Getting an operation date
4. Napping
5. TV.
Anne Brooke
Anne's website
Back home, I was just in time for the hairdresser, so now have a haircut that makes me appear normal. We're growing it long, you know. Soon I will look soft and feminine and elegant. Hmm, don't wait up then is my advice.
And I've spent a large part of the rest of the day ringing up clinics and booking myself in privately for my upcoming operations. Well, I'm covered via Lord H (neither the University nor my royalty penny stretching to such luxury, of course ...) so why not, eh? So, I've rung up PPP, then I've rung up the NHS hospital, then I've rung up the Clinic. Then I've rung up the Clinic again just to chase them, and have booked D Day as 9 -10 October in the very lovely Mount Alvernia Hospital. I then rang PPP again to let them know, plus the NHS hospital to cancel my place on their waiting list. I then sat down and completed the claim form which PPP kindly emailed to me, and on Monday - if I get a chance at the onset of Freshers' Week, groan - I shall copy it and send it over to the consultant at the Clinic - as she also works there as well as at the hospital, apparently. And then all I have to do is wait till the 9th, when she will no doubt take her revenge for my daring to answer back by taking my fingers off while she's fiddling around on the rest of me, sigh ... Oh, and I've cancelled the dinner with friends we'd scheduled for here on the 10th, as I suspect I won't be up to anything much more than groaning at the point. I'll have to reschedule later.
After that, I've had a well-earned nap. Which I desperately needed as I only got about 4 hours sleep last night as I was too busy worrying about all the crap and hyperventilating. As you do. At least I feel more in control today and am hoping for slightly more sleep tonight. Please God. Thank goodness for the joys of Ugly Betty and QI on TV though - can't wait.
Number of days since The Gifting submission: 3 months, 4 weeks, 2 days.
Bonus fact: Number of times I've actually met my agent in the 3 years I've been with him: None.
My consequent status as Viable Commercial Author: Low to negligible.
Today's nice things:
1. Golf
2. Haircut
3. Getting an operation date
4. Napping
5. TV.
Anne Brooke
Anne's website
Thursday, September 18, 2008
Getting to grips with the novel, a satisfying critique and hospital miscommunication
Have spent some of today attempting to get more to grip with Hallsfoot's Battle. Much to my relief, I've finally finished the scene with Johan's battle preparations that was giving me so much trauma. Thank the Lord. I think part of the problem for me is that the battle training scenes bring in a fresh supply of new characters as they can't all just be faceless Gathandrians - I have to give some of them a personality and a voice, otherwise the whole scene is dead in the water before it even sets sail. And to me, too many characters can be overwhelming - much as in my own life, I find it sooooo hard to deal with more than four or five people at once. Most of my novels have a very narrow stage with only a few people able to stand on it - that's how I work best and where I'm happiest. Even in The Gifting (of which more later), the character numbers aren't huge as most of that novel is a journey from one place to the other. Now in the second of the trilogy (trilogy - God help me!), they're staying in one place - and, worse, of necessity the novel is set in two countries - so the character numbers have to mount. Doubly. Help! All this makes me feel rather out of control and is giving me the heeby-jeebies, which is thus causing me to view Hallsfoot as a great, unwieldy solid mass of stone tumbling down on me from a great height. And I'm unable to jump out of the way. Lordy, what an exciting hobby writing is, eh ... Still, at least it's a chance to learn new ways of writing. Ho ho. Anyway, I'm now scraping in at 38,000 words and I've put some titles for additional scenes in the few blank pages ahead of where I'm at, so there's hope, Carruthers, hope. Possibly.
I was also hugely thrilled (if you can be hugely thrilled - you're probably either thrilled or you're not, really) by one item of today's post, which contained a very satisfying critique of my short story, "Connections", from the Winchester Writers' Conference. This meant such a lot as, originally, when I took the story to my former writers' group, they disliked it so much that when I'd finished reading it out, there was a terrible, terrible silence in which I felt utterly crushed. The silence was so long and so terrible that I was forced to break it myself and apologise for the tone and subject matter of the story. Dammit. Which brings me to the subject of writers' group etiquette: please, please, please, people - if you're ever giving verbal critique in a public setting, never let a silence of more than two seconds go by after the author has finished reading out. It's soul-destroying. When I was a member of the group, I always tried to say something positive once the reader had stopped, even if I hated the piece with my whole heart. It just breaks that terrible tension. Mind you - good comes out of bad, they say - and at least that experience confirmed my decision to leave the group and not to look for a replacement. Not that I'm saying that writers' groups are a bad idea - they're just not helpful for me, I think. I get my writing kicked more effectively into shape via online groups and professional criticism.
Anyway, here's the critique of the story:
"A very 'cool' and well-controlled account of a sexual encounter. I felt the extremely clear, focused and steady nature of the prose reinforced the slightly detached, almost meditative quality of the woman's retelling. This slightly distanced and objective feel adds considerably to the power of the story; the reader has the sense that the energies flowing through this encounter are part of the wider lives of these two people. The writer manages somehow to convey a strong sense that this encounter - in its urgency and inevitability - is part of a wider rhythm, a bigger picture. To make the reader look beyond this immediate scene into a wider context is a rare achievement."
Thank you, Mr/Mrs/Ms Adjudicator - that means a lot. Even though it wasn't placed in the competition (you can't win 'em all, you know!), it means a huge amount. Thank you.
However, in any day, there's good and bad, double dammit. I had a letter from the hospital today, which told me that as well as the laparoscopy and the ablation (thanks for all the notes about my appalling spelling, people, btw! - though I have to say I still prefer oblation ...!), the scary consultant also thinks I ought to have a hysteroscopy as well. Ye gods, at this rate, I shall be tied up with operations between now and Christmas. If I have any bits at all left by 2009, it will be a bloody miracle (buy my books now while I still have fingers to sign them with, hint hint ...!). I was also rather pissed off by the huge numbers of inaccuracies in the letter (which has also gone to my GP) so I sat down and typed out a two-sided reply correcting them all. Which I have posted to the hospital consultant, the Surrey Park Clinic consultant and to my GP. Honestly, I fear the scary hospital consultant didn't really listen to a word I was saying during that appointment (not that I was able to say very much at all, as there wasn't much space left for replies ...). Deep deep sigh ... Well, this time, I'm not bloody taking it lying down (as it were - though I suspect once they've got their instruments poking round in my essentials I will be lying down - and possibly regretting that letter too), and I want them to know my side of it. Plus I want my medical notes to be as near to the truth as possible, rather than a web of fanciful fiction. It would be nice to get a reply of some kind, and it would be nice to feel listened to in the middle of all this, but my family have in the past had horrendous dealings with the medical profession (after all it took years for them to work out that my father had diabetes - diagnosed at last by a locum on a week's holiday cover by the simple measure of sniffing the breath - and by then the poor bloke was all but dead anyway), so I'm not holding out much hope. Though, unlike my poor father, I have every intention of being alive after the doctors have had their way ...
Harrumph!
Anyway, after all that, I've had a much-needed nap. Bliss. Tonight, I might look at Hallsfoot a little more, and then there's Mock the Week and 8 out of 10 Cats on TV, hurrah. Talking of which, I am loving Lost in Austen, which I watched last night. Elliot Cowan is the best Mr Darcy I've seen. Hot stuff and sharp, focused characterisation - well done, sir! That first almost-kissing scene was far sexier than Colin F's wet shirt moment, and indeed better than Elliot's wet shirt moment. Here's a picture of the man, just to cheer us all up:
And here's a picture below of the man in character as Mr Darcy. Also cheery!
Ooh, and I've decided to make a daily total of the time spent waiting for The Gifting to get a reaction. Today I'll add in a few extra facts about the process of being a writer that you may not have realised - just for the fun of it, eh!:
Time since The Gifting submission to publishers: 3 months, 4 weeks and 1 day.
Number of responses: 0 out of 11
Number of times publishers have been reminded by agent: 1
Number of times author has been in tears about the process: 5
Number of times author has felt like crying: c20, but it's hard to be accurate here. It might be more - probably is, really.
Number of times author has felt remotely hopeful: 2.
Ah well, we struggle on in the silence, eh ...
Today's nice things:
1. Writing some of Hallsfoot
2. The story critique
3. Cowan's version of Mr D
4. TV.
Anne Brooke
Anne's website
I was also hugely thrilled (if you can be hugely thrilled - you're probably either thrilled or you're not, really) by one item of today's post, which contained a very satisfying critique of my short story, "Connections", from the Winchester Writers' Conference. This meant such a lot as, originally, when I took the story to my former writers' group, they disliked it so much that when I'd finished reading it out, there was a terrible, terrible silence in which I felt utterly crushed. The silence was so long and so terrible that I was forced to break it myself and apologise for the tone and subject matter of the story. Dammit. Which brings me to the subject of writers' group etiquette: please, please, please, people - if you're ever giving verbal critique in a public setting, never let a silence of more than two seconds go by after the author has finished reading out. It's soul-destroying. When I was a member of the group, I always tried to say something positive once the reader had stopped, even if I hated the piece with my whole heart. It just breaks that terrible tension. Mind you - good comes out of bad, they say - and at least that experience confirmed my decision to leave the group and not to look for a replacement. Not that I'm saying that writers' groups are a bad idea - they're just not helpful for me, I think. I get my writing kicked more effectively into shape via online groups and professional criticism.
Anyway, here's the critique of the story:
"A very 'cool' and well-controlled account of a sexual encounter. I felt the extremely clear, focused and steady nature of the prose reinforced the slightly detached, almost meditative quality of the woman's retelling. This slightly distanced and objective feel adds considerably to the power of the story; the reader has the sense that the energies flowing through this encounter are part of the wider lives of these two people. The writer manages somehow to convey a strong sense that this encounter - in its urgency and inevitability - is part of a wider rhythm, a bigger picture. To make the reader look beyond this immediate scene into a wider context is a rare achievement."
Thank you, Mr/Mrs/Ms Adjudicator - that means a lot. Even though it wasn't placed in the competition (you can't win 'em all, you know!), it means a huge amount. Thank you.
However, in any day, there's good and bad, double dammit. I had a letter from the hospital today, which told me that as well as the laparoscopy and the ablation (thanks for all the notes about my appalling spelling, people, btw! - though I have to say I still prefer oblation ...!), the scary consultant also thinks I ought to have a hysteroscopy as well. Ye gods, at this rate, I shall be tied up with operations between now and Christmas. If I have any bits at all left by 2009, it will be a bloody miracle (buy my books now while I still have fingers to sign them with, hint hint ...!). I was also rather pissed off by the huge numbers of inaccuracies in the letter (which has also gone to my GP) so I sat down and typed out a two-sided reply correcting them all. Which I have posted to the hospital consultant, the Surrey Park Clinic consultant and to my GP. Honestly, I fear the scary hospital consultant didn't really listen to a word I was saying during that appointment (not that I was able to say very much at all, as there wasn't much space left for replies ...). Deep deep sigh ... Well, this time, I'm not bloody taking it lying down (as it were - though I suspect once they've got their instruments poking round in my essentials I will be lying down - and possibly regretting that letter too), and I want them to know my side of it. Plus I want my medical notes to be as near to the truth as possible, rather than a web of fanciful fiction. It would be nice to get a reply of some kind, and it would be nice to feel listened to in the middle of all this, but my family have in the past had horrendous dealings with the medical profession (after all it took years for them to work out that my father had diabetes - diagnosed at last by a locum on a week's holiday cover by the simple measure of sniffing the breath - and by then the poor bloke was all but dead anyway), so I'm not holding out much hope. Though, unlike my poor father, I have every intention of being alive after the doctors have had their way ...
Harrumph!
Anyway, after all that, I've had a much-needed nap. Bliss. Tonight, I might look at Hallsfoot a little more, and then there's Mock the Week and 8 out of 10 Cats on TV, hurrah. Talking of which, I am loving Lost in Austen, which I watched last night. Elliot Cowan is the best Mr Darcy I've seen. Hot stuff and sharp, focused characterisation - well done, sir! That first almost-kissing scene was far sexier than Colin F's wet shirt moment, and indeed better than Elliot's wet shirt moment. Here's a picture of the man, just to cheer us all up:
And here's a picture below of the man in character as Mr Darcy. Also cheery!
Ooh, and I've decided to make a daily total of the time spent waiting for The Gifting to get a reaction. Today I'll add in a few extra facts about the process of being a writer that you may not have realised - just for the fun of it, eh!:
Time since The Gifting submission to publishers: 3 months, 4 weeks and 1 day.
Number of responses: 0 out of 11
Number of times publishers have been reminded by agent: 1
Number of times author has been in tears about the process: 5
Number of times author has felt like crying: c20, but it's hard to be accurate here. It might be more - probably is, really.
Number of times author has felt remotely hopeful: 2.
Ah well, we struggle on in the silence, eh ...
Today's nice things:
1. Writing some of Hallsfoot
2. The story critique
3. Cowan's version of Mr D
4. TV.
Anne Brooke
Anne's website
Monday, September 15, 2008
Meetings, hospitals and book groups
A sharp autumnal day today. I really needed my hat and fingerless gloves, in spite of the sun’s deceiving brightness. Though actually I do rather enjoy autumn. Indeed the season has most definitely turned towards winter, so the bad news is cold weather, but the good news is no more nasty insects, hurrah. Not that there have been that many of the latter this year, a miracle for which I am truly grateful.
This morning I have caught up with the last-minute panics about Freshers’ Week, and am still trying to thrash some of them out. Double dammit. I do like to feel in control at this stage (a false illusion, but a nice one), and this year I really don’t. I also had a phone call from the hospital admissions department asking me if I wanted to be transferred from the consultant I saw about my operation as she’s not free till next March to actually do anything. Um, yes please. I really can’t wait till the spring, dammit. So I said I didn’t mind who did the operation as long as they were (a) alive, and (b) sober, and am now awaiting their response. Mind you, once they’ve seen the extent of my notes, I guess it’s whoever draws the short straw, poor them …
I also nipped over to the new English department to see where I’m supposed to be taking the University Writers’ Group tomorrow, as it’s all change in the new regime of course. I hope I can keep up with the pace. And gosh, that room’s not easy to find. Lovely though it is. I got completely lost in several different buildings, but got there in the end, with the aid of a compass and some very sturdy boots. I have sent directions to the gang, in the hope that some writers at least might turn up tomorrow.
This lunchtime, I took the minutes for the Steering Group and attempted to look (a) like a professional, and (b) as if I knew what I was doing. Neither of which are true, of course. We all tried to gaze with calmness and logic (ho ho) at Freshers’ Week, but really it’s impossible to know what it will be like until it’s here. Every year is different. We’d probably get more sense out of interpreting animal entrails and the flight of birds. Hmm, there’s an idea for next year’s preparation anyway …
Mind you, I was really pleased when the Health Centre doctor said how much she’d loved Maloney’s Law, which she took on holiday with her, and she was very much looking forward to my next one. I just have to persuade a publisher – any publisher! – to take it, eh. But so nice to have good feedback – thank you, Vicky.
This afternoon, I attempted to write up the minutes and keep my head down. Much the best approach really. Tonight, I’m planning to go to the University Book Group and discuss Betty Smith’s A Tree Grows in Brooklyn. Heck, I’ve even remembered to bring my copy with me. Mind you, it will be a desperate wrench not to be able to flee screaming to the hills at 5.30pm from the office and (shock! horror!) to have to stay on campus till 6.30pm/7pm-ish, but I’ll do my best to survive … I soooo desperately long to be home. UPDATE: it was fabulous. I really really enjoyed it - lovely to be able to discuss books with such a great bunch of people. And with no pressure on me. Double hurrahs. Am already looking forward to the next one.
And I can relax in front of New Tricks on TV this evening once I’m back at base – bliss.
Today’s nice things:
1. True autumnal weather
2. Good reactions to Maloney
3. Book Group
4. TV.
Anne Brooke
Anne's website
This morning I have caught up with the last-minute panics about Freshers’ Week, and am still trying to thrash some of them out. Double dammit. I do like to feel in control at this stage (a false illusion, but a nice one), and this year I really don’t. I also had a phone call from the hospital admissions department asking me if I wanted to be transferred from the consultant I saw about my operation as she’s not free till next March to actually do anything. Um, yes please. I really can’t wait till the spring, dammit. So I said I didn’t mind who did the operation as long as they were (a) alive, and (b) sober, and am now awaiting their response. Mind you, once they’ve seen the extent of my notes, I guess it’s whoever draws the short straw, poor them …
I also nipped over to the new English department to see where I’m supposed to be taking the University Writers’ Group tomorrow, as it’s all change in the new regime of course. I hope I can keep up with the pace. And gosh, that room’s not easy to find. Lovely though it is. I got completely lost in several different buildings, but got there in the end, with the aid of a compass and some very sturdy boots. I have sent directions to the gang, in the hope that some writers at least might turn up tomorrow.
This lunchtime, I took the minutes for the Steering Group and attempted to look (a) like a professional, and (b) as if I knew what I was doing. Neither of which are true, of course. We all tried to gaze with calmness and logic (ho ho) at Freshers’ Week, but really it’s impossible to know what it will be like until it’s here. Every year is different. We’d probably get more sense out of interpreting animal entrails and the flight of birds. Hmm, there’s an idea for next year’s preparation anyway …
Mind you, I was really pleased when the Health Centre doctor said how much she’d loved Maloney’s Law, which she took on holiday with her, and she was very much looking forward to my next one. I just have to persuade a publisher – any publisher! – to take it, eh. But so nice to have good feedback – thank you, Vicky.
This afternoon, I attempted to write up the minutes and keep my head down. Much the best approach really. Tonight, I’m planning to go to the University Book Group and discuss Betty Smith’s A Tree Grows in Brooklyn. Heck, I’ve even remembered to bring my copy with me. Mind you, it will be a desperate wrench not to be able to flee screaming to the hills at 5.30pm from the office and (shock! horror!) to have to stay on campus till 6.30pm/7pm-ish, but I’ll do my best to survive … I soooo desperately long to be home. UPDATE: it was fabulous. I really really enjoyed it - lovely to be able to discuss books with such a great bunch of people. And with no pressure on me. Double hurrahs. Am already looking forward to the next one.
And I can relax in front of New Tricks on TV this evening once I’m back at base – bliss.
Today’s nice things:
1. True autumnal weather
2. Good reactions to Maloney
3. Book Group
4. TV.
Anne Brooke
Anne's website
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